Kay Bee Love
I wanted you like a child wants a toy.
A child, on a Thursday, after a haircut walks along the 2nd level of a mall in a small suburban town adjacent to a city and in the midst of his scratchy neck, he stops, twirls to his mother's breasts and nuzzles her stomach with his face. He points to a gleaming red and blue sign perpendicular to their present spot and squeals, "I want. I want. IIIIIIIII Waannnnnnt."
The mother looks down and asks, "What do you want baby?"
Sparkled and startled the child gazes back, "A toy!"
"Well what toy in particular?"
"Yes, baby. There must be a picture of something in your head that you want."
The child being young, maybe 5 or 6, has no real idea of want. He only knows demand of attention. He does not know "Want". He may want, but his idea of want is defined in his id of demand. He might as well be crying over changing the channel or someone spilling his grape juice. His desire for the toy is only a secondary release for his need to have attention from his mother.
After a few moments grinding his feet in the floor. He looks up like a drunk midget and blulrts:
"I want a rocket ship."
"A toy rocket ship?"
"Yeah - a toy rocket ship. One that flies and goes zoom zoom brrrooomm."
He makes circles with his hands and arms as he imitates what his new toy might do. His lips are pursed together making a vibrating sound to mimic what it might sound like.
They walk into the store. His idea of a rocket ship changes 50 times as he walks down the aisle. He wants little plastic soldiers, then light up games, then drawing books, then a big red bouncy ball and so on and so on.
The entire time the mother looks for a rocket ship. She finds one shoved in a corner with a dent in the plastic screen protecting the entrails from the fingers. She grabs it and looks back to the child. She is holding his hand as he is outstretched to the world. He grabs at everything. He lunges at all the baubles. He wants them all. His mother crouches down to her knees and hands him the rocket ship.
"I don't want this."
"You said you wanted a rocket ship."
"I want that and that and that. Not some stupid rocket ship. It doesn't even fly."
"Well, you can't have those other things. It's the rocket ship or nothing."
The child looks at his mother and rips his hand out of her loving embrace. He crosses his arms, bites his lower lip, stomps his foot, and appears inconsolable.
He picks up his face from the floor and utters loudly so other patrons are sure to know his disgust, "I hate you! I don't want the stupid rocket ship."
The mother puts the dented dusty rocket ship back and replies in a soothing voice, "Ok baby let's go. No toys for you today."
"Fine! I hate you."
Meanwhile the rocket ship and the boy cry. They cry the same tears in a place where plastic and skin are the same. Where everything desirable has a soul. They cry in pain because mothers aren't always around to influence decisions and correct our lives.