The stay-at-home dad: Everyone loves a Slinky — except parents

Nothing lasts forever. Especially a Slinky. A Slinky lasts 30 minutes at most.

Let me be clear: The Slinky is one of the greatest toys ever made. Simple. Classic. That scene in “Ace Ventura: When Nature Calls” where Jim Carrey almost executes the greatest Slinky stair descent in history? There should be Oscars for such feats of cinematic genius.

Alas, the Slinky also causes tears and disappointment, at least for my family recently.

We bought four OG-size metal Slinkys for Christmas last year, one for each kid. They’d only ever had smaller, plastic, off-brand spring toys before then, and they honestly seemed to be more excited about these Slinkys than some of their much-more-expensive gifts.

However, two of the kids noted a peculiar “smell.” That hint of metal odor, sealed in a box for who knows how long, distracted from their enjoyment. So, after about five minutes, I collected the four specimens and put them out in the garage to “off gas” for a day or two.

Cut to five months later. I forgot I put them out there.

The kids moved on to other things and the Slinky excitement dissipated… until my 7-year-old daughter found a random, plastic, off-brand Slinky in her room. It appeared to be a birthday favor from some random party years ago. She was immediately enthralled by this quaint piece of white coiled plastic, partly because of some sparkly glitter haphazardly painted onto the spring. Clearly it was a quality, dollar store product.

A day goes by and, while I’m preparing dinner, I suddenly hear the incomparable wail of my 7-year-old.

“MY SLINKY! YOU DESTROYED MY SLINKY!”

The perpetrator? Her 10-year-old big sister. She had tangled it into several knots, then abandoned it on the living room floor.

An intense argument ensued that I tried desperately to diffuse. But it continued for several minutes.

The 7-year-old (full tears): “You destroyed it and you didn’t tell me!”

The 10-year-old: “It’s just a cheap SLINKY!”

(Technically not a Slinky.™)

I told my oldest that the toy itself wasn’t the issue but rather that it was important to her and that she didn’t tell her what happened.

The 10-year-old: “OK, I’m sorry!”

Me: “Saying I’m sorry is just the first step. You can ask her how you can make it better.”

The 10-year-old: “I will apologize again, but I WILL NOT SPEND ANY OF MY MONEY TO REPLACE IT!”

The 7-year-old burst into even louder tearful wails.

The 10-year-old: “FINE. I’ll give her a dollar! BUT NOT TWO DOLLARS!”

In defense of my 10-year-old, she tends to get temporarily defensive when she feels bad for doing something wrong. After a few minutes, she almost always calms down and tries to make things right. After some time away from the situation, they made peace.

For a little while anyway, I thought I’d need to hunt down another one of these very specific-looking, cheap, off-brand Slinkys. I couldn’t find anything online that matched exactly, though Amazon offered me a pack of 15 similarly-sized ones for 20 bucks or so. Seems ridiculous, but in the grand scheme of things, at least then I’d have some backup Slinkys that would last approximately 1-2 days.

Then my 7-year-old remembered the Christmas presents.

Her: “Can you get our metal Slinkys from the garage?”

That was the first time I thought about them in five months. In any case, I figured they were probably done outgassing.

My 7-year-old was thrilled to have the premium, legit, $3.50 Slinky. She flung it around, bounced it in her hands and even tried for her own “Ace Ventura” moment.

About 20 minutes later, I heard a tearful scream.

“MY SLINKY!!!!!!”

On the living room floor: A tangled corpse of the once glorious Slinky. It burned bright and died young. As all Slinkys.

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Tyler Wilson is a freelance writer and stay-at-home dad to four kids, ages 4-10. He is tired. He can be reached at twilson@cdapress.com.