Much more than my sister Jeanette
I loved my dolls. I had inherited my
mother’s doll when we lived in Denmark but it wasn’t something we could bring
with us to Canada. But our first
Christmas in Canada I struck a lucky gold mine because the company my father
worked for had a Christmas party and I got a doll for a gift. As well, Mom and Dad bought me my beloved “Mary”
which I still have today. At different
parties and events I got other small dolls that came in various sizes, they all
looked the same and had reddish hair. I
don’t remember what they were called but I had about 6 or 7 of them ranging
from 4 inches to 8 inches tall. Glory
days when we would get our Christmas and birthday parcels from my grandmother
and dolls were in the parcel. I remember
getting a talking doll which a china head and beautiful dark hair. I loved that doll.
Two other memorable dolls that I
got when I was 5 was a huge “baby” doll almost as big as me and that I always
made be a boy doll (it was bald). And
the other was a yellow haired doll, very long but thin, made of a type of
rubber that actually felt like skin (when it was lying under the bed in the
dark and we crawled around playing monsters).
I had both of them for years and years, until I was an adult. Eventually I think the boy doll got cut up
and made into some kind of puppet monster for my nephew. John and Jeanette were good at desecrating my
dolls while keeping hers safe, which was ironic because she really didn’t like
to play with dolls. But they liked to
perform surgery on my dolls as well as drawing on them.
Ah the trials of being a doll
owner with siblings.
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