THE TOY THAT CHANGED MY LIFE

Author Note

In a small mountain town on an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. I recall a memory buried deep, one that shaped the life I chose to live. Without further ado, I give you the toy that changed my life.

The First Spin

At just twelve years old, I had no idea that the venture I was about to start would go on to change my life forever. There was a beautiful glow at school that morning; I'm not sure whether it was the sun beating down on the dew-covered plants coating the woodland campus. Or perhaps it was the radiant smiles spreading across the playground and classrooms, fueled by the anticipation of the approaching recess bell. Whatever it was, the scene you see in your head is Haleakala Waldorf School, and it is where I would spend eight extraordinary years of my life.

Learning about gnomes, music, math, knitting, theater, and an assortment of other odd yet intriguing lessons before my time was done. This story takes place in the first quarter of seventh grade, a time filled with ideas, desires, and the dream of creating something bigger than myself.

My class had just moved into a new building, as was customary at our school. Each year you would move with your class—for us, about twenty-six kids—into the new building as assigned by the grade you were going into. Entering a new classroom signified not only advanced academic challenges but also an elevated status among students, affirming our position in the school's upper echelon. Because we were stuck together with the same kids every year, I forged some of my deepest and most important friendships in the world. Almost all of whom I am still very close with to this day. Naturally, the morning began with my two best friends, EO and Jonah. After stubbing my toe and dampening my new cotton tee shirt with sweat, the whistle ended our favorite class. It was physical education, which was really just a gym class playing increasingly bizarre games that our teacher somehow kept coming up with. We wandered around the garden, shooting the breeze about girls we liked and teachers we couldn't stand. Then we started plotting our weekend shenanigans, nothing too wild, but enough to keep things interesting. At its core, that's what we three did, wander and wonder, trying to squeeze some excitement out of our mundane lives before we have to grow up. It's funny how worked up we get over these little ideas, rebellions, but I suppose that's just part of being our age. This was the moment that everything changed. Jonah pulled a toy out of the back pocket of his jeans. It was a fidget spinner—a small, flat, three-pronged device that used a skateboard bearing to spin the widgets to your heart's content. We began to fight over the toy as if we were soldiers fighting for a KA-BAR knife in an nazi trench on D-Day. After the scuffle, we relaxed, and everyone got a chance to spin. It was at this very moment that an idea came to me. I would start my own fidget spinner business.

It didn't take long for me to get to work; I started by generating buzz around campus, whispering throughout the grades that I was to be selling fidget spinners and that pre-orders would be accepted soon. Even bolder, I planned to start taking cash in return for a pre-order promise card that the customer could cash in when the widgets arrive. I made sure to explain that they could wait until the fidgets were here but could buy it now at a discount. After working with my mom, we found a company in China that could ship over 300 units in a variety of colors.

Thanks to a generous donation from the Yudis company, AKA my mother, Willys Fidgets was in business. In no time, sales started flowing in, and the first step of my plan was complete; now it was time to build the team. If it were a movie, this would be when to cue the montage music as I march to different spots all over campus. Finding my closest friend and telling them what role I thought they could play in the “business” and how I was willing to compensate.

Compensation at Willys Fidgets was simple; it was royalty-based. You’d be offered different percentages depending on your role in the company. I gave myself a healthy sixty-some percent of the company. Splitting the rest into many different one, two, and three percent shares. Some of the jobs included my friend Justin as security for 2%, Elias as a repairman for 3%, and Maya, a Japanese American classmate who captivated my attention, as CFO. A title whose significance eluded me at the time. I roped in some of my other buddies, you know, to do the selling thing. I mean, they weren't exactly salesmen or anything, but they weren't morons either. I showed them this binder I put together; boy, was I proud of that thing—and taught them how to use it to peddle our fidgets. The binder was a large white three-prong book that had images of the spinners we offered, prices, and cash for change. Unbeknownst to me, my little business was attracting more attention than I had anticipated—some of it from rather unsavory characters.

It was the beginning of a new week, and sales had been going well; up to that point, we had only been in business for a little over two weeks and had already made over two hundred dollars. Now, that may seem like a couple of dinners and a tank of gas, but back then I might as well have been Jeff Bezos because that was the most money I'd ever had at one time. As the business grew, so did its critics and jealous onlookers. One particular morning I heard murmurs that the teachers had caught wind of the fidget binder I keep in my backpack. This surprised me because my binder was our crown jewel, guarded as fiercely as a dragon hoards its treasure.

Nevertheless, a friend of mine who had become particularly jealous of the whole endeavor told me that what I was doing wasn’t allowed. That I couldn’t sell in school and how I was completely in the wrong. I'm not sure whether it was the success of the sales or the fact that we liked the same girl. Though outwardly calm, his negligibly suppressed anger revealed that he had, in fact, tipped me off.

It was later that day that I would finally muster the courage to ask out Maya, a smart but silly girl who, despite our similarities, was difficult to talk to and made me nervous.

Nevertheless, when gym class began, a random draw of cards grouped Maya, Jonah, Eo, Taj, and a few other friends from the spinner business onto the same team. After some not-so-savory jokes about my bravery and a nudge in the right direction, I was convinced. Dodgeballs whizzed as I walked purposefully through the hot busy field, screaming, and the sounds of sweaty dodgeballs filled the air. I found Maya curled up behind a sheet of wooden cover halfway down the field. With fewer words than throws, together we pushed back the attack of the blue pinnies. The moment was busy flashing like a movie on double speed but the time was right as I turned to maya to ask her the big question, A hot, damp dodgeball walloped me in the face, and the gym teacher, Mr Palmore, whistled me out of the game. Unbeknownst to me, my mischievous friend Taj, operating under the false assumption that Maya and I were now an item, planned to "congratulate" me by planting a condom in my backpack. The truly absurd part was that we were only in seventh grade; a condom was the last thing I needed, or even wanted at that age. Taj ambushed me after class, gleefully revealing his prank. Though irritated, I failed to grasp the potential consequences of his joke. This was the beginning of what would become one of the most stressful afternoons of my young life.

As lunch came and went, more fidget spinners were sold and at that point, the word was out: fidget spinners were the must-have item, and kids were clamoring their parents for ten dollars to get in on the action. EO had brought his repair kit to school, which he was using to help customers whose fidgets had slowed or broken; needless to say, our usual headquarters by the wooden green lunch table was bustling. The sound of the bell pierced our ears like darts to aboard, signaling that lunch was over and choir class was to come. I climbed the worn, green-painted steps leading to Christopher Hall, this was the school's largest building and one that hosted many of the biggest events. The harmony of our footsteps clobbering up the stairs ended at the entrance where we took off our shoes. It's funny; I always hated choir class. Miss Lamberts wore small leather sandals, which revealed her feet, heavily caked with dry, chalky powder. The papers she handed out had a musty smell, with smudges and stains as if they’d been thrown in the back of a struggling artist's car. The worst part was her decision to separate Eo, Jonah, and myself based on the accusation that our group was a noise disturbance to others. In her defense, if the melody was the plane, we weren't exactly a gentle breeze; more like a gathering storm. The class was going well, or as well as it could go until we heard a knock at the door.

It was my grade's teacher, Miss Kraft; she apologized for disrupting the class and said she had to speak to a student in private. In front of the entire class, she called my full name. I saw Maya look over at me in shock, followed by exuberant whispers from those who had been praying on my downfall. My heart started to pound like a drum at the start of a parade. A prickling heat crept up my neck, blooming into a rose-red flush on my cheeks, just as Ms. Kraft's voice cut through the air: "Come with me, and bring your backpack.". The steps leading down to our classroom seemed to stretch endlessly before me, each step heavier than the last as I trudged after the teacher toward her office. It was only when I walked into the classroom that I remembered the gift Taj had left me in my backpack. The classroom I loved so much now made me feel uneasy as Ms. Kraft sat down and told me to hand over my bag. She told me about how she knew of my spinner business and that although she was proud, it had been distracting other students. The clock's relentless ticking punctuated the silence as our student artwork stared down, a multicolored tribunal of painted and crayon-drawn judges. She stuck her hand into my bag, revealing the binder. Opening it, she began with questions about the business and who was involved. I knew if she found out, I couldn't rat on Taj and would have to own up to it myself. With agonizing slowness, she delved into my backpack once more. Sweat beaded on my brow as I braced myself for the lecture that was surely coming.

To my wonder and surprise, she pulled out a couple of loose fidget spinners, took one last look, and handed me back my bag. Ms. Kraft delivered her verdict: I was to cease all fidget spinner sales on school grounds, my parents would collect the confiscated binder/fidgets, and I was to return to class immediately. After, it felt as though I'd narrowly escaped a looming storm, one that I myself created, and was grateful to have emerged with nothing more than a light drizzle. I paid out all my employees what they were owed and closed down shop. Though technically defeated, I walked away with something far more valuable. The realization that I wanted to be an entrepreneur. More importantly, I learned a lesson that would guide me for years to come: It's better to take a chance and fail than to never try at all.