An Ode to the Humble Cardboard Box

By Joe Barker

We all love getting out of Bangkok for different reasons. Marty and Mummy love playing on the beach, I look forward to running in the countryside, and at eight months old we finally learned what Alice travels for. As we stepped into our hotel room, her little face lit up with joy as she caught sight of the wastebasket and crawled toward it. As I watched her enthusiastically licking it, I wondered why we go to so much trouble cleaning and sterilizing her bottles, given all the disgusting things she tries to eat. My reverie was interrupted by my wife suggesting I should perhaps stop Alice before she ate the whole thing. Having duly rescued the wastebasket and restored a disappointed Alice to her toys, I started to ponder all the things that children seem to prefer to the toys we lovingly provide them with. 

Making tracks

On our last trip to the UK, the highlight for Marty was the IKEA delivery. Hiding the screws and instructions while I struggled to assemble beds and cupboards was fun, but the giant cardboard boxes were the real joy. We built castles, trains, and trucks. Then we turned them into railway tracks that wound around the living room and were tripping Mummy and Daddy up for weeks. It was a sad day when the ramshackle old cardboard line was consigned to the trash, but Marty was consoled by the promise of the two unused boxes waiting under the bed for next year's visit and a new era of epic construction.

This love of the cardboard box seems to come instinctively to our children as Alice is already striving to reach any boxes she sees, and once placed in her cardboard cave, she sits there, happily giggling to herself and peeping out at passers by. She was also quickly converted to one of Marty's favorite games: cardboard chariots. Where that reluctant old steed, Daddy, is forced to push Marty at high speeds, and Alice rather more sedately, around the living room race track, delivering thrilling cornering and spectacular crashes until an exhausted Daddy's back cries “no more!” 

My favorite box game is the simple “Mail the Marty”, where Marty is shut in a box and totally fails to stay quiet as he is delivered as a “surprise” present to an unsuspecting Mummy. If only, I sometimes think, I were allowed to really mail him off to distant relatives. He seems keen—it’s just those pesky post office rules that stop me, and maybe a little concern for his health. 

Digger delights

As a two- and three-year-old, Marty was a big fan of diggers. After the tragic death of yet another cheap, plastic digger, we decided to get a stronger metal digger. “Marty will be so pleased,” we thought. “He'll play with it all the time.” Well, we were sort of right—every day the digger would be carefully slid out of its box, and every evening it would be lovingly tucked back in before bed, even if that meant fishing the box out of the trash. Sometimes the digger would even do some digging, but mainly it just went in and out of its box, for weeks on end. 

It's not just cardboard boxes and wastebaskets that are more exciting than the things that come inside them. Marty's first Christmas was all about the wrapping paper, and Alice followed suit this year, contentedly chewing the wrapping paper while ignoring the expensive sensory toy that Granny had lovingly chosen. 

Speaking of sensory toys, until recently the only thing that Alice really wanted in life—apart from the wastebasket and every electrical outlet—was a bit of crumpled newspaper or plastic. No toy could match those satisfying sounds. Now she's broadened her horizons to include sand and gravel, which she'll crawl infeasible distances to taste. The only tastier thing is whatever food she can find on the floor. Like a squirrel, she seems to primarily treat mealtimes as an opportunity to fill her secret floor food reserves—one for now, three for later is her approach to any plate of food. Perhaps she simply prefers the flavor of lightly trampled food? 

Finding treasure

Martin is rarely unhappy to be outside, but one day nothing seemed to please him in the park, and we were all about to return home hot and bad-tempered—until he caught sight of something in the trash can. Was that a broken toy car? Whatever it was, it instantly became the most desirable item in this two-year-old’s whole world. Heat and unhappiness forgotten, he clung to the edge of the trash can, desperately trying to reach the broken red car. When it was finally rescued, it proved to be missing a wheel and cab, but nonetheless it provided a joy that was ended only by the approach of bedtime. 

As we headed home I subtly returned the car to the trash and thought no more of it. Until the next evening, when an excited Marty announced we were going to the park to play. When we arrived he marched straight to the trash can and searched for his new favorite toy. The next evening we were not surprised to find this routine repeated, but fearful that the garbage collector might come, we decided to keep the car. Sadly, something about bringing it home killed its magic appeal, and a few short days later it was consigned to the trash for the final time, unnoticed and unlamented. 

Beach bounty

Of course this love of salvaged toys could be inherited, given that Martin and Alice's entire, and substantial, beach toy collection consists of things Mummy and Daddy have found on beach runs. This is why they have eight plastic turtles, four rakes, and innumerable fish, but only one four-inch-long spade. I've been banned from collecting any more fish moulds on my runs but have my eyes constantly peeled for digging implements. Of course it's important when retrieving toys on the beach to make sure they have been abandoned and washed up by the tide rather than merely resting while their owners seek ice cream and a little shade. No one enjoys being chased down the beach by a hysterical six-year-old, and their irate family, whose favorite spade you've just stolen. 

Stepping up

Now what would you consider the key requirement of a good playgroup? The snacks? Water play? Exotic toys? Nope, for Marty, it was all about the stairs. We'd pay our expensive entry fee to a state-of-the-art venue and then spend our entire visit climbing up and down the steps. Of course, when we thought we'd learned our lesson and took him to a free park with a few steps, they turned out to be entirely the wrong kind of stairs and Marty insisted we go home. 

Like any good amateur enthusiast, Marty is keen that everyone should share his passion for his chosen hobby. So he insists that now Alice can crawl, she must practice stairs regularly. His dedication appears to be rubbing off as Alice frequently attempts the long and perilous ascent of our stairs, during which she’ll inevitably teeter uneasily until falling on her nose. Like a true climber she is undeterred by a few tears and soon prepares to try again. It looks like I'd better start researching Bangkok's best staircases again.

About the Author 

Joe and his wife Diane moved to Thailand in 2018. Since the arrival of their son Martin in 2021 and daughter Alice in 2024, Joe has been a stay-at-home father. The whole family enjoys BAMBI playgroups and Thai beach holidays.