Kids do the darndest things: Working in a toy store can teach a person about life and humanity

I have never applied for a part-time job expecting to learn any meaningful life lessons. In fact, I don’t know anyone who has.

We tend to think of part-time jobs as a means of scraping by and paying our dues until our real careers take off.

If we’re lucky, our coworkers will be friendly, the hours will mesh with our class schedules and the pay will be enough to buy groceries.

In October, I was very fortunate to be hired at a local toy store. My coworkers are some of the coolest people I have ever met. My boss understands that I am a student and thus cannot — no matter what — work during class time. I’m able to buy groceries because I play with toys and wrap gifts.

But the best thing about this job is the foggy window pane of humanity made a little clearer by the children who come in.

Before I took this job, I seriously doubted that I would ever want to reproduce. Now, however, I am in touch with my inner Mama Bear. She doesn’t need to come out of hibernation for several more years, but I know that she’s in there.

It turns out that everything you need to know about people can be learned by observing kids in a toy store. The most obvious — and most entertaining — lesson is of the differences between men and women.

There are plenty of sweet, funny little girls who come into the store, but they are already somehow less childlike than the boys.

It’s like they just know. They are born knowing. If they see something they want, they’re going to try their hardest to get it. They don’t need any help, and they aren’t above manipulating.

I watch them negotiate with their parents and friends. I watch them lead their little brothers around with pudgy hands — the seeds of motherhood already planted and beginning to sprout — identifying things, teaching them the rules. They are smart. They are tough. I respect these girls.

The boys are different. Their innocence is shockingly raw. They are so genuinely excited about their new toys, and they are eager to share this excitement with you. Boy tantrums tend to involve more tears than shrieking, more begging than bargaining and a sense of lingering defeat rather than determination to outsmart the parents.

I often feel an overwhelming need to protect them because, unlike their sisters, they don’t know yet. But they will.

I now have some understanding of why animals eat their young — how can something so sweet ever survive? And if they do survive, how can you, the parent, ever make it through caring for this fragile creature with your heart fully intact?

My employment at this magical place, of course, isn’t permanent. After graduation, I will go off in search of the start of my “real career,” which I’m sure will prove to be much more grueling than the Christmas rush of frenzied mom-shoppers could ever be.

I wish there was a concrete way to sum up what I’ve learned working here on my resume: “Skills: Microsoft Office, 85 wpm typing speed, cash register training and a slightly better understanding of humanity.”