Shopping Carts

When I think of shopping carts these days, the focus is usually on (a) whether I need one...surely I can carry toilet paper, toothpaste, a gallon of milk, and a carton of ice cream, right? OR (b) if I do need a cart, can I choose one with working wheels that don't squeak?  But a while back one of the grocery stores back home replaced all their carts with fancy new blue shopping carts, complete with cup holders.  That change got me thinking about the value of the shopping cart to our process of maturing. 

When you're little, the shopping cart is either a source of joy or frustration.  If you're forced to sit in the seat and you just don't want to be there, it's cause for a major melt-down.  Then there's the transition to the back of the cart.  You're a little too big to ride in the front, but Mom doesn't want to have to run herd on you, so to keep you contained, you ride in the back--in being the operative word. This particular stage can either be a source of joy or frustration, depending on the day and the contents of the cart.  How many times have you seen the kid who wanted to hold everything Mom or Dad was putting in the cart?  And in the logic of a four-year-old, it was vitally important that the items be handed to you to place in the cart.  You had become the keeper of the groceries.  Of course if you got over-crowded, that wasn't so pleasant, but in your newly acquired post, you had the amazing ability to hold more in your lap than seems humanly possible for a four-year-old sized body. 

On special occasions when Mom was in a particularly permissive mood, or when an older sibling had control of the cart, you had the best position possible related to the cart--hanging on to the outside of the cart, usually at the back, with your feet resting on the bar just above the wheels, and with someone pushing you around the store.  If you were really, REALLY lucky, that someone would run and send you on the closest thing to a roller-coaster ride you could get without actually going to Six Flags (or for those of us from back home, Holiday World or King's Island). Of course some children actually got to ride under the cart on that special shelf for dog food, potting soil, cartons of canned soft drinks or bulk items like paper towels.  I was never one of those children.  Mom said it was too dangerous, even on her permissive days.  This seems to me a good spot for those days when you wanted to hide from grown-ups, but I still don't see it bringing the thrill of the hanging-on-for-your-life position. 

The next transition was to life outside the cart.  Sometimes you held on to the side of the cart as Mom pushed, and sometimes you walked between Mom and the cart, your back to her front, with your hands resting just inside of hers as you pushed together.  This was a trial stage, but the next stage might not come for quite some time--the day you pushed the cart all by yourself.  For some people, I'm convinced this stage doesn't happen until college.  You've moved past the runs to the grocery store just for junk food, and even though you're still buying junk food, you're also thinking about the other things you'll need to survive college.  Of course I'm still convinced I can hold the toilet paper, toothpaste, gallon of milk, and carton of ice cream without that cart.