Barney’s Silent Cry for Help
“In space, no one can hear you scream.”
Alien
In this case, it wasn’t space and no people were involved. Instead, it was a stuffed Barney. You know, the large purple dinosaur on the PBS show beloved by little kids and reviled by many adults. For the record, Carla and I never allowed the kids to watch Barney. Teletubbies, no problem. Dragon Tales, bring it. Yes, practically any other kids’ show was fair game. But Barney was a bridge too far. A large purple dinosaur that should never be named. We found his uber-cloying demeanor repellant. Worse yet, the little kids on the show were so sickly sweet you just knew they were going to grow up to be convicted felons.
So Barney was a no-go. My daughter Maria was down with it. She had plenty else on her imagination plate to keep her busy, not to mention a veritable bevy of stuffed lambs with the ever-fabulous Lulu leading the flock. But my son Patrick was different. The P-man desperately wanted to watch Barney, despite our continually issuing a strongly-worded nyet. But then something happened.
While out shopping one time, Patrick espied a stuffed Barney. Carla immediately put the kibosh on buying it. I did likewise on a separate excursion. However, on yet another shopping mall soiree, Carla changed her mind, surprising one and all when they returned with Patrick carrying the stuffed dinosaur beaming like a new flashlight. I gave Carla the look. She quickly reminded me of the time I caved and bought Patrick a SpongeBob pillow after she said no. Such are the woofs and warps of parental discipline vs. generosity. C’est la vie—and it’s only childhood castles burning.
So the stuffed Barney joined Patrick’s toy menagerie. Yes, Barney with his trademark idiotic grin dressed in a yellow onesie made from a soft waffle material, a fabric that reminded Carla of jammies both kids had worn as wee ones. I should also point out that there are precious few photos of the stuffed Barney. In fact, the picture above is one of only two photos I found after looking through three albums and hundreds of images.
No surprise Patrick carried Barney around for weeks as the new favorite. But soon enough, Barney blended into the background with so many other toys. But Patrick still played with him from time to time. Which takes us to the incident.
First, I have to note that there was a lawn of sorts in the back yard I’d put in during the first few years we lived in the house on Pacheco St. in the City. It took a lot of work because the soil was so poor. However, in the winter, oxalis—or wood sorrel—would take over the lawn. Oxalis looks like clover, only it can easily grow to over a foot high if not attended to.
Every winter then when the rains came, oxalis would take over the lawn only to die off in the spring. But not before looking like some kind of wacky green fairy forest. And it’s this very green fairy forest that would prove to be Barney’s undoing.
Given the timing of the tragedy, it had to be late fall around Thanksgiving, or even early December. By then, the oxalis had moved in and was quickly attaining bumper crop status. At that point, we can only assume Patrick was out in the back yard with Barney in tow. Then he somehow left Barney lying amidst the verdant greenery and promptly forgot about it.
I’m sure there was an all-points bulletin issued when Patrick realized his favorite squishy dinosaur in yellow jammies was missing. Only problem is that it could have been weeks later. By then, the oxalis had grown over the stuffed dinosaur and was slowly beginning the process of putrefaction decay.
It rained buckets that winter because it was an El Niño year. Meaning a succession of huge storm systems blew across the Pacific and collided with the California coast—and we lived less than two miles from said coast. With all the heavy rain, the oxalis grew like never before. All the while Barney lay among the greenery calling out, hoping someone would find his now soaked and spongy ass. I can just hear Barney’s goofy voice crying “help, somebody come get me!” And no one answering. Sorry, that’s a pathetic stretch. But it makes for good Substack fodder.
And so all that wet and cold winter Barney remained hidden in the back yard. Only to be found by Carla in the spring once the oxalis started to die off. Then she presented Barney to Patrick, who immediately wanted to know why he was covered in gray blotchy stuff. One look at Barney and I knew it was mold. He’d become a stuffed 3D petri dish.
Carla quickly dispatched Barney to the washing machine downstairs in the garage. In fact, she washed him more than once because the mold was not coming off. She even vigorously hand-scrubbed Barney’s jammies and faded purple epidermis, but to no avail.
Barney would stay blotched forever more. No doubt his raggedy-ass appearance disinclined Patrick to play with him. Afterwards, Barney was relegated to least toy status and eventually made his way down into the garage. It goes without saying that Barney was among the many toys that were culled from the herd when we moved to New Mexico in 2017.
There are times when the doomed stuffed Barney comes up in conversation, probably related to various kids’ toys that met tragic ends. It still makes me wonder about that cold rainy winter Barney spent out back in the oxalis jungle. And how he cried out in vain for help, just like the opening quote from the movie Alien. But at least we eventually found him. And no Barney babies ever sprouted out of someone’s chest. That would have been really alarming.
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Great memory! Please tell the P-man I said hello. Carla too. Love your writing. Rock on!
love the photo of Patrick,sailing on calm seas.One never knows which toys will gain traction.Sweet article.