Something That Happened.

"I am getting tired now and would like to be turned off..." That was 2-XL, my talking toy robot, whenever he was getting tired. Of course, he wasn't really getting tired; the tape was simply reaching its end. You see, 2-XL was nothing more than an 8-track cassette player disguised as a robot, a 1978 child's toy "brought to life" by Mego Corp. Even so, 2-XL was, in a way, one of my earliest exposures to robotics. (Though he was nothing like the robots we live with today, of course. He couldn't make me toast, for example, or inject my insulin. He could only "speak" whatever was recorded onto the four stereo tracks of the 8-track cassette inserted into his "mouth".)

When I became a Transplant, my first thought was of my childhood friend. 2-XL had been my buddy, had kept this only (lonely) child occupied with factoids and entertained by his odd -- what we call now, geeky -- sense of humor. He had been my encyclopedia (much of his knowledge was dictated by pop culture), yet also my companion. I carried him around with me everywhere. He attended family excursions; I plugged his 9-volt adapter into any power outlet I could find. He once went to church in my backpack. (Though once Mom noticed, it was assured I would never duplicate the experiment.) He was a robot, before I realized what a robot really was.

Then, when I reached the age of realization -- that sad time of adolescence when most childhood illusions are dropped, when Santa Claus becomes a phantom and death becomes a source of anxiety -- I became aware of 2-XL's real nature. "He's just a machine," someone told me, and I nearly cried from the shock of being shown how his tapes could be played in mom's stereo, which included an 8-track player.