Maybe because it was green that it caught my attention, awakening a long-dormant emotion I had yet to identify. I continued to stare at the image on the cereal box. Imagine: a brain-shaped ball, like a small football, except that it was convoluted like a brain. The now-awakened excitement was surfacing. Wow, I could be the first kid in my neighborhood to have one! Besides, every kid knows that cereal boxes hold more magic than cereal. It was all coming back to me, like the chorus of an old summer camp song:
When you hear the whistles blowing, and you see their wings of tin, you will know the Junior Birdmen have been sending their box tops in. Remember, it takes only one box top, plus 10 copper pennies, or two fat nickels, or one thin dime!
Normally, I am a prudent and rational shopper. I save coupons, recycle, shop for bargains at thrift stores, and consult Consumer Reports before making a major purchase. Why is it then, that I have a Mr. Bubbles night light in the bathroom (which required two proof-of-purchases), a Fred Flintstone coin purse (free inside specially marked boxes), and an authentic Tony the Tiger baseball, autographed with his very own paw print? In fact, the only time I have been tempted to lie about my age, was when I was filling out the order form for the baseball. The form dared to include a blank for age; I dared to be honest. They probably thought it was a typo.
I never could resist cereal box offers. While Cracker Jacks offered immediate gratification, cereal boxes had their own mystique. Even if the prize was inside, it was usually close to the bottom, requiring special techniques to squeeze, shake, and grope for the trophy. However, the real exercise in self-control, discipline, and patience, came with mail-in offers. Box tops were magical tickets; the mailman was the courier of hopes and dreams. The mailbox was a potential treasurer chest.
But first, we had to eat the cereal. Now, four box tops may not sound like a lot until you consider how long it takes a family of two adults and two small children to eat that much cereal—especially if it isn’t your favorite. By the time I was allowed to clip off the box top and cut out the form on the side or the back of the box, I had already practiced as much long-suffering as I could endure, and as much whining and begging as my parents could stand.
Finally, the moment had come. Printing painstakingly, I filled out each line of the order form and taped the required number of coins to the back of it, as directed. Then, I slipped it and the correct number of box tops into the envelope, sealed the flap, pressed the stamp in place and put it out for the mailman. Already the newly planted seed of anticipation was beginning to swell.
“Please allow two to four weeks for delivery” sounded like an eternity to a 7 year-old. My “Is it here yet?” started the day after it was mailed, excitement building until the afternoon I would burst through the door and see the box or envelope waiting on the kitchen table.
Was I ever disappointed? Rarely. How could I be disappointed? After all, it was the dream, the fantasy that stimulated my imagination that I had sent for—not the item itself. Ironically, the one real disappointment I remember was in something I would love to have now. It was advertised as a life-sized dancing puppet of Shirley Temple. My imagination shifted into high gear—I had to have it.
Having completed the lengthy process previously described, I checked the mail box every day until, finally, an extra-large envelope arrived—not a box, an envelope. Even as I pulled out the “puppet”, I felt cheated. It was, indeed, a child-size likeness of Shirley Temple—but it was cardboard, like a large paper doll.
It was accordioned in the middle so that when dangled from the string looped through the top of her head, you could mimic a dancing effect. I knew what a dancing puppet should look like, and this was not it.
Among my favorite box-top prizes was a hand puppet based on the Rice Krispies characters, Snap, Crackle, and Pop; I had chosen Snap. Another puppet was Lamb Chop, another special offer item. I also sent for the Lone Ranger’s mask, Sky King’s ring, a bottle of invisible ink, a variety of decoder rings, a spy telescope to see around corners, and, from the Saturday morning radio program, Big John and Sparky, Froggy’s magic twanger!
All of which brings me back to my present order form. I wonder if I can get my husband and son to eat the required number of boxes of Rice Krispies and Frootloops to send for my green Mini-Brainball.
