When I was 12 years-old, I had a fascination for toys, as well as a vivid imagination. Often, I’d dream about the sorts of toys I wanted, inspired by reading the likes of Lego Magazine, Boys Life or through the pages of The Toy Book; a toy-industry quartly magazine that my Dad got in the mail.
…pauses writing to subscribe Atlas to The Toy Book.
On top of magazines, I was a regular visitor to one website in particular – spinmaster.com, maker of the Air Hog; an air-powered airplane that was the childhood fantasy toy for both me and my younger brother. Priced around $50, the Air Hog was drastically out of our reach, and it was also a steeper price than we could comfortably ask our parents to spend for a toy.
Mark and I must have visited that website at least once a week, eager to see the latest updates from the company – and to drool at the Sky Shark Air Hog, which seemed like the ultimate toy. I often remember going to toy stores and seeing the beautiful red and yellow box it came in and dreaming about the day where I’d be an Air Hog owner.
Then one day, my life changed.
I visited spinmaster.com just like usual, but on that day, there was something different on the website; an animated banner that said something to the effect of:
“Hey Kids! Want to work for Spin Master?”
Eagerly, I clicked into the banner and was taken to a web page announcing the launch of the ‘Spin Master Junior Board of Directors” program. Ten kids – Five Continents – and the opportunity to work for the company.
To me, this was far greater an opportunity than the allure of the Wonka Golden ticket.
I quickly ran through the ‘job description’ which detailed that Spin Master was looking for a small group of kids to help them identify what sorts of toys and trends were cool in their region, submit new ideas for toys, and collaboratively work with the other kids on the JBOD.
I wanted in.
I wrote my application without the help of Mom or Dad, and sent it in from my email address; aaron@wimbert.com.
A few weeks later, I got an email and a phone call that would change my life. They had accepted my application, and I was welcomed as a member of the Junior Board of Directors. In the acceptance letter, I received my job description as well as compensation package, which paid $250 for every ‘report’ I sent in; requiring a compilation of surveys that I’d collect from my friends.
From what I rememeber, each report required a minimum of 10 surveys. Being a homeschooler, I had somewhat limited access to a large group of kids. However, I was an enterprising 12 year-old and quickly enrolled the help of one of my friends at church to gather the surveys; paying her $1 for every completed survey, which her friends completed at her school.
I got my surveys than I could count, and eagerly compiled them into the reports which I’d send out several times a month to the company.
During my time on the JBOD, I remember getting more Air Hogs than I could count – including early access to the XT9 Copter, which had yet to be released to the public. I amassed a large collection of Flick Tricks bikes and minuature skatepark components, and a few other pre-release toys – such as the infamous “Don’t Free Freddy” toy; a cute plush doll sporting a pair of handcuffs, that would turn into an angry, rude monster when you let him out of them.
When he was 2 years-old, I bought Atlas a ‘Don’t Free Freddy’ and it’s still in his room to this day.
Almost as quickly as it had started, the JBOD came to grinding halt – with the company executives responsible for running the program being reassigned to other ventures within the company. At the time, I was heartbroken. It seemed like it had come to an end right as I was getting the hang of making reports – as well as right before some of their latest products were going to be released – Remote Control Air Hogs…
That experience left a permament mark in my development as a child, and even a young adult. The confidence it inspired in me was invaluable, and I still have nothing but fond memories of the fun times I had while working for the company.
Recently, Atlas got a jar of Kinetic Sand from my Mom; a gift for Christmas. While he was playing with it, I remarked to her that the product was made by Spin Master, while also listing out a plethora of other products they’ve acquired.
A few nights later, Atlas asked me to tell him a bedtime story, and I decided to tell him about my days on the Junior Board of Directors. He loved hearing the story, and thought it would be pretty cool if he could have the opportunity to work at a toy company someday.
“Hey, Atlas…you just might!” I told him.
This afternoon, while he was playing with his Kinetic Sand, I was reminded of my experiences working on the JBOD, and decided to scroll through my emails to see if I could find the contact information for the person I worked with. It was a long shot, but I thought it’d be worth a look.
I found a handful of emails, with the last exchange being from 2007. Out of curiosity, I called the mobile number on the executive’s signature – a few rings later, he picked up.
While Atlas played, we caught up on the 25 year gap of time between the JBOD and the present, and I had the opportunity to thank him for the impact that he and the company had on my life, entreprenurial career and passion for having fun.
That conversation was one of the most enjoyable conversations I’ve had in years, as well as a reminder of just how much of an impact the events of our childhood can have on our trajectory as adults.
In my case, I got an opportunity of a lifetime to work with a toy company I loved when I was 12. What mattered most to me at that time wasn’t the toys – or even the money – it was being able to proudly know that I was capable of doing something remarkable at a young age, while also getting a firsthand lesson on the importance of putting myself out there with nothing but an email.
We never grow up – we just get older. I still love toys just as much as I did as a child, and now have the opportunity to play with them almost every day with Atlas.
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