On Target

copyright 2005 Dale Hansen - no reproduction without permission

When I was growing up in the booming metropolis of Red Wing Minnesota, my parents and I would take an annual pilgrimage.

Every year in late August, just before the school, we would pile in the car and take the hour-long drive through the woods, past the hills and into the deep, dark recesses of – HASTINGS!

There was no one to go visiting in Hastings, my folks probably knew at least a handful of people that lived there, but this was not a social visit. This was business – serious business.

In Hastings Minnesota, there was a Mecca, an oasis, a place that was both mysterious and grand:
Hastings had a Target.

To a ten year old, it seemed like mile after mile of wonders. Racks of clothing sprouted from the floor like so many polyester bushes. Each isle was an entire universe of shiny stuff we didn’t need, but we got anyway, because who knew when we’d be back?

I gravitated to the stationary isles. We were there for back-to-school, so I had my obligatory list to fill out for the year.

Paper. It was college ruled – that made me feel awfully adult – and wrapped up tight and sealed. No one – NO ONE had ever, ever opened this pack before me. It was new, unexplored and I became addicted to the smell of a fresh package of paper.

Pens. The first time I was allowed to choose a pen over a pencil was a milestone of my maturity (though I had to have a note from the teacher saying it was OK – there are degrees of maturity after all). Blue, black and green ink - red was reserved for the corrections to be placed on it later. I bought all the disposable pens I could get my hands on (as long as Dad was willing to cough up the cash).

Binders. Binders were the most essential part of school. I almost never ended up actually using them, but the surface of the binder was essential for doodling while you’re supposed to be listening. The paper or cardboard binder was best for this, vinyl covered binders ruined the entire effect unless you covered them with an inside out grocery bag (these were all paper). Then the cover could be tossed when full and a fresh clean canvas applied.

ORAGNIZER. The most essential part of the entire trip. The organizer with the thousand pockets and strings and zippers and folds. I am now and was then about as organized as a dust devil, but the trapper/keeper and the flip-folder and all the rest of the great organizers promised to keep me on the straight and narrow. And in order to get Dad to pay for it, I too had to promise to keep on the straight and narrow.

It was a lie, of course. Within a week, the organizer would be little more than a repository for miscellaneous and unrelated garbage roughly shoved into the little pockets and zippers and folds.

The organizer was an important tradition of the school year, though. At the end of the year, it got cleaned out, and the memories it carried in the form of forgotten papers that never were handed in, broken disposable pens that collected and leaked in the bottom of the pockets, even once the little bit of Twinkie that had been there for the entire year (still soft and spongy – kinda frightening that), made me reflect back on the year that had ended and praise God that it was over and done with.

Scissors. Why did I ever get scissors? They were NEVER used. They rattled around with me for the first month and then found a permanent home in the bottom of the locker. At the end of each year, they were thrown out when I cleaned out he locker (an action requiring heavy equipment) and then, three months later a new pair was purchased to be ballast for the next year.

Erasers. The gummy, little hand soap looking things that were absolutely useless when you were using a pen. Some time after sixth grade, they came out with a new sort of eraser that was completely useless for pencils too. The really white ones with the cardboard wrapper that smeared the pencil mark into a blob and then tore the paper.

Once the school shopping was done, it was on to the TOYS! Isles and isles of great toys the beeped and whirred and whistled and spun and flung themselves at you on command. Toys that ran themselves, and even some that ran other toys. This was when I needed to carefully choose exactly which toy I was going to whine and pout and cry over until I got it.

There was a price range I knew to work within. Anything too pricey and I would get nothing at all, but if I went cheap, then I could lose out on something cool. Something that wasn’t made out of PLASTIC. Or MADE IN JAPAN. That was the junky stuff.

There are Targets, super Wal-Marts, K-Marts, malls and shopping nightmares stores all around me. I go to one about three of four times per month now.


What a let down. But I still praise God that school is over and one with.