By Mark David Blum, Esq.

Beware, a new pet rock has taken over the minds of our young. It is called Build-A-Bear. In case you have not yet tangled with this new evil, a marketing genius has taken Henry Ford’s mass production theories to a whole new level. Kids are eating it up and demanding more.

It works like this: I am going to sell you a teddy bear. I will not make it. I will not build it. I will not design and install that cutesy outfit it is going to wear. You, the customer, will do it instead. I save the costs of manufacture and assembly. You, the customer, get to pay extra for the PRIVILEGE of building this bear. Plan to spend $10 for every year of your child’s age. Add $3, for the voicebox thingie installed.

One day, my most precious then 11-year-old demon spawn begged me to take her to the Build-A-Bear store at the Carousel Mall. Huh? Her mom knew what she meant and off we went.

If you have ever experienced ‘team day’ at your local Chucky Cheese, you will understand why I stood there flabbergasted when we arrived. This brightly decorated, music-driven store was alive with the gyrations of a mob of hyped up pre-teens. Kids were running everywhere. It became immediately apparent that the owners of this place are on to something.

Everywhere, there were lines. Lines of hopeful children stood to select the type of bear. There were at least 487 different choices; each ranging in cost from the outrageous to the extreme. But, oh weren’t they so cute and cuddly? (No, not the children --- the bears).

Once a bear skin is selected; which has to be done by committee, the next line is at the stuffing machine. Yes, these little kiddies lined up to have their bear shell filled. It was a joy to see the bubbly face of the teenager who worked the stuffing machine get a kick out of helping each child insert a little heart into the bear before the stuffing is completed and the bear sewn shut. For $3 more, you can also have a voice box inserted. My precious one got the voice box that utters, “I Love You, I Love You” in a tone taken straight from a fingernail scratched chalkboard.

Then, the sweet kiddies get to bathe and clean their bears. Clearly the intention is to help vacuum off the lint of the newly created being. But this vacuum station is constructed to look like a bathtub with a hose. I always thought the medical staff cleaned the afterbirth.

Next, we marched off and followed the hordes of gleeful kiddies over to the dressing area. Here, is where things get interesting. There are at least 8,000 different outfits, accessories, hats, shoes, and other goodies, that for a price, can be bought. Hey, we are not that impoverished that I would let my child take a naked bear from the store. After the mandatory minimum 2 outfits were selected and I enjoyed the harmonies of a 25 bear chorus of “I Love You, I Love You”, we headed toward the line waiting at the cash register.

En route to pay for this privilege of doing assembly line work, we passed an array of computers. Apparently, I am too old to figure out how to work them; though, I tried. In my last moments there, I noticed that the store holds ‘birthday parties’ and is a gathering place for mothers with strollers. Being one of only two men surrounded by 200 children and 2 dozen women in the store, I did the only thing I could. I kept my mouth shut and smiled.

I was able to forget the pain of handing over a wad of Benjamins to the sales girl when I turned to see the perky smile on my hormonal child. The Bear got a birth certificate and a name and we all lived happily ever after.

Or so people would want you to think.

Without let-up for the entire drive home, I had to listen to “I Love You, I Love You” from that stupid bear. It got to where I was going to plunge a knife into its heart and rip out that voice box.

O, did the wife and child think it was funny to keep doing it.

O, did I plot evil.

Two days later, the moment arrived. It was time to wake my darling precious one for another day of school. There she was, all warm and cozy and dreaming of candycanes and sugarplums. Slowly, quietly, with the stealth of a madman, I crept toward the sleeping child. Very gently, I lay that bear down beside her ear. Then, I squeezed and left the room.

“I Love You. I Love You”

She sat right up. I smiled.

The bear hasn’t been heard from since.