Somewhere along the way, Bing and I failed as parents. Big time.
All five of our offspring hate dolls. They call them “creepy.” How can this be?
My childhood was awash in dolls. I had tea parties with my dolls. I wheeled them around the neighborhood in their little doll buggies. I dressed and re-dressed them in lovely gowns. I took them with me wherever I went. I still have several of them – some are slightly worn and some (Raggedy Ann and Andy for two) are almost unrecognizable, but still treasured.
Every year at Christmas, Santa brought a doll for Heather, Erin, Meg, and Amy. Wade not so much, although he once had a Cabbage Patch doll named Wade Adrian who had, like Wade, red hair, so of course we had to buy him. Wade carried Wade Adrian around with him for about five minutes, then tossed him on the floor to be gobbled up by whatever dog lived with us at the time. I was heartbroken. Wade couldn’t have cared less.
The girls also showed no interest in the dolls Santa brought, in spite of my best efforts to have them enter into the world of my childhood. Erin once actually asked for a doll for Christmas – I was ecstatic. We have a picture of her holding the doll. However, five minutes after the picture was taken, Erin was off racing with her sisters, leaving the doll behind and never looking back.
Fast forward to today, when my array of dolls on the little settee in one of our bedrooms elicits horrified – yes, horrified – gasps from our kids. As in, “Mom – those are nasty!” Nasty? Good grief. What planet did these people come from? When any of them stay in that bedroom, they cover the dolls with a sheet so they don’t have to see them.
I know there have been movies where dolls have come to life and terrorized everyone in their wake, but for heaven’s sake, that’s only make-believe. My dolls are real. And sweet. And lovely.
However, I think those wretched movies have obviously impacted our children to the point where they have lost all their senses.
It’s so sad – they missed out on such a magical part of childhood, and now, they’re scarred for life. Just because some idiotic moviemakers were hard up for villains in their stupid, scary films.
I have never told my dolls of our children’s dislike for them. They don’t need to know. As long as I love them, they’ll be okay.