digging in the dirt

Christmas morning, 1978. So, I was eight years old. I’ve just opened up a box containing a plastic baby doll and I’m holding it up to myself, hugging it with glee. This was just what I’d asked for - the doll from the commercial, Baby this n’ that. It had arms that moved in different directions when you squeezed its toes (obviously something you need to practice for eventually dealing with a normal baby, right? Possible younger siblings would love that). The right arm went back and forth (so it could brush its own teeth or hold a crayon). The left arm went up and down so it could feed itself. Pressing a little toe made the mouth move like a real baby’s so that it could eat from its spoon or drink from its bottle. It ‘could’ eat. But the possibility of food rotting inside of a doll instantly got my mom to put a kibosh on feeding the baby. I did give it a bottle, once. It was just water (again, the rotting doll theory). It was just one bottle of water, but that doll peed for a long time! We finally just put in on a stack of newspapers until it stopped wetting itself. By that time, the rubber booties, concealing the pneumatic devices in the toes, were completely stained from the newsprint. Although, pink eraser helped get those marks off.

I look at this doll I cuddle so happily and a few things amaze me. First of all, it’s blonde with blue eyes. Come to think of it, all of my baby dolls were blonde with blue eyes. Why didn’t they bother to make color-correct dolls for little girls who were not toe-heads? I don’t get that. I remember marveling then that there were so few dolls to be had what did not have blonde hair. I had one Barbie – type doll with black hair. I played with that doll A LOT. I’m sure generations of non-whites felt the same way about handing their daughters plastic dolls with peach colored “skin”. Why bother when you can make a sock puppet?

I also wonder why the hair on the doll, though it’s new, does not look like the hair of the doll pictured on the box. It’s wiry and messy. Shouldn’t it at least have started out neat? I think at some point I put baby oil on the hair to tidy it up! Really the most interesting thing about dolls was the inside of their heads. I couldn’t pull the head off this n’ that doll because of the various contraptions that coordinated facial movement with toe-pressing. But I pulled the head off lots of dolls to see the amazing pattern of how their hair was sewn into their plastic scalps. I wondered if my own hair were attached in a similar fashion.

Hair – I always had a thick mass of hair, right from the very start. For some reason moms go ga-ga about keeping their daughters’ hair long when they themselves keep it cut short. I had this terribly long mop (and I do mean MOP) that constantly resisted being restrained in ponytails or buns and was insufferable when let loose. In this image my hair is up in a loop (make a ponytail and wind the length back through the rubber band a few times). And my hair is all breakage from the constant pulling back with rubber bands. I tried cutting it myself once I was so sick of it. Bad idea.

The smile is cute. I’m in the middle of loosing teeth. The incisors are in place in the front and the two on either side are making their way into their crooked form. If we’d taken me to a dentist we’d have known that my cuspids weren’t coming in at all. My whole face is in an awkward state of transition from baby sized to something bigger. I don’t seem to be noticing.

Why the hell did they give me dolls and why did I ask for them? I see dolls now and just… I don’t understand them. The one stuffed animal in my possession is only there for the sole reason of having been a gift of exceptional cuteness. Although I did take it to therapy once when I wanted something to cuddle. When someone comes to my house for the first time and sees my stuffed animal I am compelled to quickly explain and validate its presence. I squeeze it’s tummy. It says “whoooo!” Case closed. I look at this picture and just think it’s absolutely silly. I asked for dolls, but I really played with trucks and liked to dig around in the dirt. A set of garden tools would have been perfect as I distinctly remember spending the following summer using flat stones attempting to dig a hole to China in the back yard. Or a brand new hoe – I know that playing in the dirt would occupy more of my time than the relationship – obsessed dolls of those doomed-to-be-a-girl. An erector set or some modeling clay would have been great. Or two paint sets (with extra amounts of pink paint!) would have been great! I wasn’t necessarily playing with the wrong things as much as thinking I should play with the wrong things for who I was. Dolls? BABY dolls? What was I thinking? Kids are supposed to have some measure of unconscious, pre-adult honesty. Was I missing mine? Or had I already been told too many times by television and siblings what I should want? I was happy to have this doll that I’d asked for and didn’t know what to do with it. I tried taking it to bed with me to cuddle, like I’d seen girls do with dolls in pictures, but it was hard plastic. OW! Eventually the little spoon it came with would assist me in my outdoor activities.

I brought the doll in to school for show and tell in January. Peggy, one of those people I called a friend who, now that I think about it, never acted like a friend at all, had also gotten one. She actually LOOKED like her doll, with her light eyes and hair. I guess we could have sat down and played with our same –type dolls together. But we didn’t. I put my doll away, took it home, didn’t play with it much after that. It remained in near-new condition (except for the hair which never looked new…) at the bottom of the wooden doll crib grampa Joe had made for me. I had holes to dig in the back yard!