What is it about a Jack in the Box that not only makes it timeless, but makes it never grow old. Even as a thirty-something adult, if I ever crank, or I ever watch somebody crank, the handle of a Jack in the Box, I stare with baited breath, waiting for the clown to pop out. It paralyzes me until the finale has happened. Every, single time.
All around the mulberry bush… the monkey chased the weasel… the monkey stopped to pull up his sock…
Noah has a Jack in the Box. I sometimes sit there with it on my lap, turning the nob ever so slowly, listening to the music box inside crank out its famous tune.
I really can’t figure out the pull that it has on me. Am I waiting to see if this time it won’t happen? Am I forever mesmerized because of some fond memory from my very early childhood? Is the damn thing enchanted?
If you’re a parent or a grandparent, do you have a Jack in the Box in your home? Are you still as engrossed and bewitched by it as I am? Or is it just another toy to you?
Dan Pearce, Single Dad Laughing
PS. What other toys have the same draw on you that the Jack in the Box has on me? Lincoln Logs are definitely in that category for me as well.