Cultural anthropologists of the future, excavating the ruins of late twentieth-century homes, may conclude that the principal religious icon of Christmas was the dry-cell battery. I'm not going to suggest going back to gifts that don't spin, whir, flash, and talk by virtue of the miracle of batteries, but I think we should use the electric-Christmas angle to teach the kids a lesson.
In 1986, our Christmas, a 21-battery event, came and went like the standard suburban Christmas. I didn't make nearly enough fuss about batteries. All twenty-one of those little cylinders and rectangles of energy just appeared magically, fetched from bathrobe pockets and the junk drawer in the kitchen. I had purchased them in advance, because no parent wants to be accused of stealing the joy of Christmas by giving a batteryless Photon laser gun or talking Teddy Ruxpin or gigantic "portable" radio. Such a gaffle could bring the child welfare folks to your door with charges of cruelty and neglect.
I made matters worse last year by inserting the batteries into the toys before I wrapped them, so the push of a button would set them in action. This may have heightened the excitement of the moment, but it is also created the illusion that all the activity was free.
Rechargeable batteries further frustrate energy lesson attempts. Union Carbide, Consumer Reports, and your own experience may argue in favor of the cost effectiveness of the rechargeable approach, but what the kids learn from them is that energy is infinitely renewable.
An entire generation of kids is too
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