By Jessica Solomon
🎶 I don’t want to grow up, I’m a Toys “R” Us kid…
For kids of the 80s and 90s, this wasn’t just a commercial jingle. It was our pledge of allegiance. Toys “R” Us wasn’t a store—it was our Emerald City, our Fortress of Solitude, our Nickelodeon slime-covered dreamland.
Walking in was like stepping through the wardrobe to Narnia, except instead of talking lions, there were shelves stacked with Transformers, My Little Ponies, and the holy grail: the Nintendo display with controllers permanently attached to the TV. Geoffrey the Giraffe was basically our Willy Wonka.
But fast-forward to today: Toys “R” Us is now reduced to a handful of flagships and Macy’s shop-in-shops. No more sprawling kingdoms of joy. Wahhhhhh! Cue the collective Gen X meltdown.
KB Toys: My Personal Emerald City (With Mall Pretzel Smell)
Confession: I was more of a KB Toys kid. It wasn’t polished like Toys “R” Us—it was pure mall chaos energy. Think Orange Julius in one hand, NKOTB on your Walkman, and your kid-self racing down aisles stacked to the ceiling with action figures.
One trip is burned into my memory: I was there with my dad and little sister when I spotted the Barbie. She had bleach-blonde curls, a satin yellow jumpsuit, and gave off serious “Barbie Joins Jem and the Holograms” vibes. I begged. Dad resisted.
Finally, he hit me with the ultimate dad deal: If I bought the Barbie, there’d be no birthday gift later.
I wasn’t sure if my dad was bluffing, but in pure latchkey-kid logic, I thought, Eh, I’ll still get gifts from other people. Done deal. Barbie came home with me. I adored her—but more than anything, I adored my dad. He was my Yoda. My Mr. Miyagi. The wisest man alive (and with our last name Solomon, it kinda fit).
Growing Up: Like Going from Saturday Morning Cartoons to Sunday Night Homework
No Toys “R” Us kid really wanted to grow up. But life doesn’t come with a pause button, let alone a rewind.
I moved 3,000 miles away. Built my career. In 2004, I entered the senior care industry. My work became helping families navigate the maze of aging and care decisions. But when it came to my own parents? I didn’t have the emotional tools or cheat codes.
When my mom passed in 2018, I was calling industry friends like I was dialing into a hotline on a rotary phone: Help! What do I do? Their response? “Jess, this is literally what you do.” But here’s the truth: not even 20+ years in the field prepares you for the boss battle of losing a parent.
From Toys “R” Us Kids to Gen X Care Navigators
We’re the MTV generation. The Nintendo-with-a-blowing-on-the-cartridge generation. The Trapper Keeper + Capri Sun + Saturday Morning Cartoon lineup generation.
Now? We’re the caregivers. The “adult children.” The ones navigating care for our parents while juggling jobs, kids, and aging ourselves.
And let’s be real—there’s no cheat code, no Konami Code (↑ ↑ ↓ ↓ ← → ← → B A Start) for caregiving. It’s messy, emotional, and sometimes feels like playing Twister—except instead of friends and giggles, it’s family dynamics tangling you up in ways you never asked for.
So here’s the new starter pack:
- Stay alert. Life throws curveballs faster than a Donkey Kong barrel.
- Stay tender. Keep your inner Toys “R” Us kid alive—it softens the hard edges.
- Stay resilient. Humor, compassion, and patience = unlimited extra lives.
Carrying the Magic Forward
As kids, our biggest dilemmas were which Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle action figure to get, or whether we had enough quarters for one more round of Street Fighter II at the arcade. Now, our challenges look very different: navigating healthcare systems, finances, and end-of-life care for the people who once guided us.
But here’s the thing—we don’t have to let go of the magic. Toys “R” Us taught us that possibilities could stretch as far as the aisles. Saturday morning cartoons taught us that heroes come in all forms. And Blockbuster nights taught us the joy of shared moments.
Growing up doesn’t mean giving it up. It means carrying that wonder forward—even into caregiving, even into chaos.
✨ Because deep down, we’re still Toys “R” Us kids. And that’s not just nostalgia. That’s our superpower.
