One of the true joys of being a kid was the Spirograph. Not a screamer at the opening of presents Christmas morning yet secretly a gold mine of frivolity. They could not have been expensive. Even though there were instructions, I never read them. Discovery and exploration was bursting out of the box. Plastic was still a kind of novelty in itself.
The anticipation of that first scribble with the small wheel inside the big wheel had adrenalin pumping through my veins rivaling any event of life except maybe at the moment of death. I wore out the paper with this first wheel while quickly mastering the “keeping the pen in the hole and on the paper” technique. Moving on to the oblong wheel created a new skill base and an even more stupendous character. How is that possible I mused audibly.
My mom and brother tried to ruin the whole deal by telling me that it was all a math thing. Math, smath, I could draw like Da Vinci and create new universes. Addition and subtraction could not do that. Of all my toys past and present, I think of this one most often. If you Google Whack “Spirograph” you will see I am not alone.
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