Walmart

Wal-Mart, for me as a child, was something like I imagine Santa’s Heaven to be like. Every time my sister and I, and often our cousins would be there too, to share in the festivities, would visit our Grandparents in Cleburne, Texas, we would visit the local temple to capitalism in its most prevalent form, consumerism. Oh, the excitement that began to bubble up from the nether regions of our little bodies at the mere mention of that Shangri-La that promised untold riches and personal satisfaction in the form of Ninja Turtle action figures and miscellanea and whatever it was that the female element of the grandchildren were enamored with, which, if the furnishings of the room I occupy at my Grandparents is any indicator, fixated heavily on various iterations of equine and princessly distractions displayed in a wide spectrum of pinks. One of the first signs of change I noticed as a child, an indication that one has seen enough and experienced enough to be able to recognize something that once was this way is now different, and therefore a sort of marker of time itself, was the conversion from the relatively modest Wal-Mart of my earliest youth, of the He-Man and Thundercat and Nintendo years, to the upgraded, next version, the evolved Super-Wal-Mart of Ninja Turtle and Super Nintendo era, as though this Wal-Mart was the next logical and superior iteration of the Wal-Mart genus- Neanderthal meet Homo Sapiens, if you will. That old Wal-Mart, the archeological remains of which still remain across the street from the next generation superstore, are to this day still intact, the façade of the store having been occupied by a non-apex scavenger, a Kroger’s supermarket. That old, antiquated Wal-Mart almost seems prosaic in the ether of my memory in comparison to its Super successor, like some sort of Mom and Pop Wal-Mart, as ludicrous as that seems.

The inevitable and keenly anticipated ritual trip to Wal-Mart was a childhood fantasy-rent-material. Nearly any toy or treat was available in its cavernous halls, the labyrinth of artificially low priced goods which would seem daunting to those unfamiliar with the undulating passages that led to the prime areas, a treasure map inscribed through countless excursions onto the cerebrums of my fellow children and I. This was a routine part of visiting Cleburne; it was part of my childhood. And it seems appropriate that my cousins, my sister, and myself wholly embraced this sort of unabashed, unalloyed, and unashamed materialism. Materialism is the heart of childhood; what child doesn’t have a mind absolutely receptive to the accumulation of more and varied loot. To a child, more is always better. It is only as we begin to gain a more nuanced appreciation for the world, for the concept of quality, for the immaterial and, to some, not entirely convincing concept of self deprivation, that we begin to realize that we have somewhere in the past segued from pure childhood to some degree of difference along what may be described as a linear chart of maturity, from the adult in mature body only to the ascetic, who reviles at the slightest hint of pleasure. And for a realization of cause and consequence of our actions. My own experiences lead me to wonder if Wal-Mart isn’t stuck in a state of arrested development as well, that the people who indulge in all of the rock-bottom prices and colossal volumes available at these warehouses of goods aren’t gently refusing to grow up a little themselves. Another part of me is quick to point out that I don’t fit the demographic of the typical Wal-Mart acolyte, and that it would quite disingenuous, as well as certainly quite elitist, for me to make any such assertions about the emotional maturity of the shoppers who spend their dollars at Wal-Mart. What I can say is that my own knowledge of Wal-Mart has expanded beyond what was once a sort of juvenile solipsism, an oblivious, blissful ignorance dedicated to the myriad joys of the splendor of Wal-Mart. I now know about the business strategies that the corporation employs when they enter a new community, like the thousands upon thousands of American ones they have already entered. I also know about the ways in which the nations largest private employer treats its enormous workforce, the methods the company utilizes to reduce the amount of health insurance and overtime pay it is obligated by federal law to provide for full time employees. All of these interests and methods are wholly in line with what I expect a business in a capitalist country to do, precisely the sort of behavior the Wal-Mart stockholders hold the management accountable for, indeed, demand of them. I admit this, and don’t vilify them for it. I can also say, however, that I feel a distinctly different emotion when I approach Wal-Mart in Cleburne today. I cannot deny that there is still a strong nostalgic pull towards the hallowed land it occupies, so familiar to me over the years and seasons of my life. I don’t resist going there, afraid that my reticence born of insight might jeopardize one of the precious last vestiges of a very fond and cherished childhood I enjoyed with my parents and Grandmother, as nearly all of these features have disappeared now, fallen by the wayside along with my interest in Ninja Turtles and full days spent watching Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoons. What I can promise is that it is very unlikely that my children will have the same experience with Wal-Mart as I did as a child, and will never look upon one of those behemoths with the same bittersweet eyes as their father.