Somewhere between parenthood and grandparenthood, many years elapsed during which time toy companies, no doubt compelled by lawyers, decided to take all the fun out of being a baby.

This awareness struck after visiting toy aisles in Oak Harbor’s finest stores. What I was looking for was a scooter to help a pre-walker get around the house and make it even easier for him to terrorize the dog.

What I had in mind was the thing my kids used, which basically was a plastic bucket-seat affixed to four aluminum legs, each ending with a sizable plastic wheel. This stripped-down rig allowed for maximum speed and mobility and the kids zipped around the house like lightning. Thanks to this little rug buggy, they never really needed to learn to walk, although they finally did to avoid being laughed at when they went up to receive their high school diplomas.

Of course, the rug buggy came with safety concerns, mainly that it was so fast that the trip from the kitchen to staircase could be made in mere seconds, requiring mom and dad to develop both a third eye and a sixth sense, which nature provides in the absence of lawyers and safety regulations. Certainly there were numerous crashes, a few near-tumbles down the stairs and a number of relatives complaining of tire marks across their shoes, but the rug buggy lasted through three kids. Little did I know that we’d rue the day when we got rid of it.

Looking for something similar for the first grandchild, I found nothing but virtually immovable objects, due to the number of safety straps, rubber bumpers and down-sized wheels. In fact, many of the riding toys for younger rugrats didn’t even have wheels. They were gruesome looking plastic worms or giraffes with a seat, and one foot to plant on the floor. They were designed to go nowhere! It was as if Columbus had never discovered American, Native Americans had gone on to create plastic toys, and somehow the idea of the wheel-and-axel still eluded them.

The scooters that did have wheels had exceedingly small ones, which might allow a strong, determined baby to make it across a wood floor in just a matter of hours. On a rug, it would be useless. Besides, all the bumpers, noise makers and shiny objects attached made it too heavy to qualify for the Daytona 500.

Fortunately, we have Island Thrift, where aging parents give away unsafe toys that kids love to play with. I didn’t find the scooter I wanted, but there was a tiny bike with big wheels, no safety straps and no bumpers. I estimated by the plastic discoloration that it was 15 to 20 years old.

The grandson wasted no time learning to handle his new ride, and now he’s having fun despite the occasional spill while rounding the corner or while in hot pursuit of the dog. When he outgrows his little bike, it’s going in the garage for future generations of babies. Otherwise, they’ll never know what fun really is.