By Jennifer Poenix
This Saturday on “Between You and Me,” the topic is dolls. Did you have a favorite? What did you do with your dolls? Dress them, rock them, or invent lives for them?
I wasn’t too into dolls as a girl, even though I managed to amass a large collection of Barbie Dolls. I was also in the thick of it when the Cabbage Patch Kids craze hit in 1984. My aunt managed to buy one for me, a “preemie” doll that I named Carol Sue and my mother called “Rock-head,” due to the nature of her hard head.
For my first Christmas, I received a doll that I have always known as Pinky. Pinky was a pretty simple doll. She was a soft baby shaped form covered in fuzzy pink material (a snowsuit?) leaving just her rubber face and some yellow yarn hair exposed. She also had a wind-up thing in her back that allowed you to play “Rock-A-Bye Baby” if you so wished. I don’t recall spending a lot of time with Pinky, but apparently, I did. Ever since I can remember, the paint of her eyes was chipped, and her hair was just three strands that hung straight down in her face. Oh yes, she was loved.
Pinky still lives in the closet of my old bedroom at my parents’ house, and the funny thing is whenever we visit, my 3-year-old son finds Pinky whenever it’s time for a nap or bed. He doesn’t sleep with anything at home, but at Grandma’s house, he snuggles with Pinky whenever he sleeps. When he wakes up, he immediately returns her to the closet, like he can’t risk being seen with her. He has no siblings or cousins to taunt him about it, but still, he has an aversion to being seen with a doll. Why is this?
Join the conversation about DOLLS this Saturday from 10-noon on “Between You and Me.”
I wasn’t too into dolls as a girl, even though I managed to amass a large collection of Barbie Dolls. I was also in the thick of it when the Cabbage Patch Kids craze hit in 1984. My aunt managed to buy one for me, a “preemie” doll that I named Carol Sue and my mother called “Rock-head,” due to the nature of her hard head.
For my first Christmas, I received a doll that I have always known as Pinky. Pinky was a pretty simple doll. She was a soft baby shaped form covered in fuzzy pink material (a snowsuit?) leaving just her rubber face and some yellow yarn hair exposed. She also had a wind-up thing in her back that allowed you to play “Rock-A-Bye Baby” if you so wished. I don’t recall spending a lot of time with Pinky, but apparently, I did. Ever since I can remember, the paint of her eyes was chipped, and her hair was just three strands that hung straight down in her face. Oh yes, she was loved.
Pinky still lives in the closet of my old bedroom at my parents’ house, and the funny thing is whenever we visit, my 3-year-old son finds Pinky whenever it’s time for a nap or bed. He doesn’t sleep with anything at home, but at Grandma’s house, he snuggles with Pinky whenever he sleeps. When he wakes up, he immediately returns her to the closet, like he can’t risk being seen with her. He has no siblings or cousins to taunt him about it, but still, he has an aversion to being seen with a doll. Why is this?
Join the conversation about DOLLS this Saturday from 10-noon on “Between You and Me.”
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