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Topic:  Write the story only you can tell,

            Or, your favorite childhood memory

 

I got my first Barbie doll somewhere about age 9 or 10.  That was the norm then, not like today, when Barbies are given to preschoolers and adult women spend a week’s wages on collector models.  It was a Christmas gift so important that it is captured forever in black and white photos taken by my sister. She was a pony-tailed blonde with pearl post earrings.   She wore a black and white striped bathing suit and had white heeled pumps.  I loved Barbie.  I played Barbie all the time.  She was to me what video games are to today’s kids.  When she came, there was just one more outfit and subsequent holidays brought a couple more, hand picked from the description in the Sears catalog.  I wanted still more.  They were expensive.  Mom did buy me a beautiful red velvet cape and pill box hat to wear over her party dress so the poor girl wouldn’t freeze.  Many of my friends had more clothes, and like every child, I needed more.  However, we were a one income dad working mom stay at home family and there was little extra for frivolities of doll clothes that cost as much outfits for my sister and me.  Well, one Christmas Eve, my present was the best that I or anyone in the family had ever gotten.  I had a whole entire wardrobe for Barbie.  There were everyday clothes, a couple of dresses, a pair of pants, a marvelous ecru lace trimmed white satin wedding gown, and a tweed wood coat with matching hat.  Barbie was every bit as stylish as Jackie Kennedy on TV.  I was delighted.  How did this come about?  Well, Mom had ordered a pattern for   “12” fashion doll” clothes from an ad at the back of the newspaper.  When she got it, she scavenged hers and her family’s rag bags and fabric remnants for just the right materials.  She then spent long hours and miniscule stitches to create, by hand the marvelous array of designer clothing.  She did this while I was at school or late at night by bedside lamplight. My friends were impressed.  I was top of the world.  I was in conspicuous consumption heaven, but I had a heavy heart.  I was hiding a secret.  I was a snoop.  Some weeks before, the anticipation of the upcoming holiday got the best of me.  I was home alone and I went looking.  I just couldn’t wait to see what “Santa” would bring—so I snooped.  I looked in the clothes press.  I looked in the wardrobe.  I looked in forbidden drawers.  I looked under the beds and there was the treasure.  I saw the work in progress and was awestruck—but I couldn’t tell anyone.  So I kept the secret and when the presents were opened and Mom admitted that she had “put her eyes out” with those tiny creations I acted like I had no prior knowledge and was surprised speechless.  I guess this was when I took the stage for the first of many times.

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