Meet My Dolls, My Friends

Babies, Barbies, and a Menagerie.
Babies, Barbies, and a Menagerie.

When I was growing up in rural south Alabama, there weren’t really any kids that lived nearby for us to play with. Fortunately, Ben and I were best buddies and only two years apart in age. But sometimes I just wanted to have a crowd to hang out with. That’s where my dolls came in.

I loved to play with my dolls when I was growing up. I certainly had my tom-boy moments, but at heart I was (and still am) completely unashamedly a girly-girl.

I came up with elaborate dramas and talked to my dolls as though they were good friends…which, really, they were. I remember getting into a fight with Ben one time. I went to my room and closed the door. I lined up my dolls on my bed, and we had a good, old-fashioned vent session. I told them about the fight, and they commiserated.

I remember making up a song about being sorry. I even remember the tune. (One day when I get brave, I may have to cut it into Youtube.) It went something like this:

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so-ah-ah-ah-ryyy,
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so-ah-ah-ah-ryyy,
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so-ah-ah-ah-ryyy,
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so-ah-ah-ah-ryyyyyyy…
Because (fill-in the blank).

Each doll and I sang the verse and added what we were sorry about, at the last line. True catharsis. For CindyAnna sang for her last line:
“I’m so-ah-ah-ah-ryyyyyyy…Because I fought with my bro—-ther.”

This is CindyAnna.
This is CindyAnna.

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