The Spangled Duck

"Come on, come on! It's right there... I can almost taste it!"

I stand back and watch my daughter at work with a proud little smile. This is the first time we've been to the arcade in ages, but I never tire of watching her eyes light up with delight in a place like this. I suppose that's part of the magic of an arcade; the second you step through the door, you become a little kid again, no matter what your true age is.

She's been at that crane game for a while now. Her brown eyes unshakably focused on the glass, tongue poking out between her lips, hand steering the joystick with a precision brought on by decades of practice. All my girls are so good at those things, which amazes me every time. Today, however, their usual uncanny luck doesn't seem to be with them.

Just like the last half dozen attempts, the chrome claw wobbles down toward the pit of boxed Funko Pop figurines. It scrapes clumsily at the glossy white cardboard and plastic boxes, gripping the one underneath it for all of five seconds. And - just like before - the prize falls from the claw well before it gets to the chute at the front of the machine.

I hear my daughter let out an audible groan of frustration as she watches Wonder Woman tumble another three inches away from the chute, well out of reach of the claw. "Not again! Rats!"

"It's okay, Honey," I say, tucking a strand of her dark brown hair behind her ear with a smile. "You can always try again if you want."

Her older sister - working as point man to direct her claw from the side - scans the figurines pensively until her blue eyes lock on one closer to the front. "That one's loose," she said, tapping the glass to indicate a zombified looking Batman. "Go on; I'll bet you can get it in less than three tries."

Hey, I told you they were experts, didn't I?

My younger daughter sighs, flashing a little defeated smile. "Nah; I'd rather save my money for something else. It's all yours, Dude." She's trying to be a good sport - I can tell - as she picks up her purse and yields the machine to her sister. As much as she tries to hide it, though, I can tell how disappointed she is. She's been a huge Wonder Woman nut since she was in Kindergarten. I have pictures of her pretending to be Wonder Woman in a costume she put together herself, which I will treasure forever no matter how many times she cringes when I bring them up. Getting that figurine would have made her year... but when it comes to The Claw, sometimes cutting one's losses is the best strategy.

As penance for being "a loozah" as she put it, she moves to a smaller, dinky little crane machine by the door filled with rubber duckies. I've seen a handful of little kids snag a few already, promoting how easy it is to win them. The price per play is also much cheaper - one dollar for two tries, in comparison to two bucks a try for the Funkos. I take my eyes off her for a minute to watch my older daughter try for Batman, this time with their oldest sister helping direct the claw, but within a minute their younger sister already has her fifty-cent ducky in hand.

For half a buck, it really is a cute little thing: hot pink, and printed with white stars. My younger daughter decides to carry it around on top of her head, sort of like a "loser tiara". All in good fun, of course. I'm genuinely surprised at how long she manages to keep it balanced there, as it's still proudly sitting on her cranium when we leave the arcade fifteen minutes later. Then again, my younger daughter will do almost anything for a laugh.

As we travel across the Boardwalk trying to decide what to do next, a young couple with a little girl catch my eye. She points and giggles at my younger daughter's head, where the ducky is still perched. It quickly becomes evident that the family doesn't speak much English, as she chirps "un canard!" excitedly. My younger daughter looks over at the child, which she apparently hadn't noticed until then, making the duck topple from her head. She catches it quickly before it drops to the ground, smiling at the girl warmly.

"Yeah, it's a cute little duck, isn't it?" she says, holding out the rubber ducky to the girl. "Do you like it? You can have it, if you want."

This little girl - who's maybe three years old - looks at my daughter with wide eyes, her rosy lips forming a surprised "O", like she's been offered Disneyland tickets. She grins from ear to ear and plucks the little ducky from my daughter's hand without a second thought, squealing "Merci" over and over again. Her parents smile appreciatively at my daughter, offering their thanks in mixed French and English. My daughter smiles back with a polite "You're welcome" as we go our separate ways. I look back at the family one last time, giggling as I see the little girl trying to balance the duck on her head just like my daughter.

"That was so sweet of you," I say, elbowing my daughter gently. "Why did you do that? You didn't have to, you know."

My daughter looks back at me, genuinely puzzled. "I don't know," she admits. "She just really seemed to like it, and it made her so happy. I didn't really need it anyway. I just know she'll get a lot more fun out of it than I ever would."

My vision goes a little misty as I put my arm around her, pulling her into a one-armed hug. As a mom, it's easy to doubt yourself and wonder if you're doing a good job raising your kids. I know I've been guilty of that. Then, once in a blue moon you get moments like this... and you realize quite suddenly that you didn't do too bad after all. Twenty-five years later, she's still my little Wonder Woman, slowly making the world a better place one rubber ducky at a time.