Barbie Doll

A true story.

She walked down the sidewalk with a spring in her step on a Saturday afternoon. She was going to a Party and all by herself too! No parents this time. She was five years old after all and not a baby anymore.
She cradled the present carefully in her arms. A brightly wrapped package her mother had picked out and given her to take. She herself wasn't sure what it was.
There were balloons and streamers all about in the party yard and she made her way to the girl that was the cause for all this celebration. Proudly she handed her the present. The girl stood there holding it for a few minutes until her mother came along and scooped it up to place on a table with the other gifts.
It was soon forgotten in the distraction of races in a bag where you tried to hop and a pretty pony that hung from a tree, you were supposed to hit with a stick. She didn't play that one. Who hit pony's anyway? Boys, of course! Boys would hit anything with a stick! She asked one named Kenny what the words on the big banners said. "Happy Birthday, Veronica" he told her. While she ate her hotdog, she daydreamed about having signs with her name on them at her next birthday.
After cake and ice cream it was time for Veronica to open her presents. She was excited and wanted to see what she had given her. It was her first big girl present and she had brought it down the street herself. Serious business was this.
When Veronica got to her gift, she held her breath as she watched her rip into the paper. Oh! It was a doll! Long brown hair and big brown eyes. She hoped upon seeing it, that maybe her mother had bought her one too.
She watched in shock as Veronica callously tossed it on the ground. Her eyes began to water and her bottom lip trembled as she fought to keep from crying. If she cried, she'd look like a baby. She waited while Veronica opened the rest of her presents. One eye on the poor discarded doll in the grass.
When Veronica had finished, she had marched right up and asked her why she did it. Veronica pointed to the five bathing suit clad, blondes in boxes on the table and said that the doll she gave her was nothing but a cheap Barbie knock-off. Her five year old mind could not quite comprehend the meaning of this. But, Veronica was eight now and obviously she knew something about it.
She went quietly back to her seat. Off and on she took peeks at the unwanted doll on the ground.
They were playing tag now. All off on the other side of the yard. She got up and walked to the spot the doll lay. Gently she picked her up and brushed the hair out of her face and hugged her to her chest. She was beautiful. What was so wrong with it? Without a word, she left the yard and went back home.
It wasn't too much later that her mother came all no nonsense into her room. Clearly she was upset. It seems Veronica's mother had called and said she had stolen the doll she had given Veronica.
She tried to explain that Veronica hadn't even liked it and threw it in the yard. She didn't think Veronica would even care it was gone.
It all fell on deaf ears. Her mother was ashamed. You can't take back gifts! That was stealing! And now the whole neighborhood thought her daughter was a thief!
She made her take it back. March right down there and hand it back to her. She went along with her to make sure too!
Veronica accepted the doll back all sweetly in front of adults and stared daggers at her the whole time.
She cried all the walk back home and as she climbed into bed. She unknowingly had become familiar for the first time with guilt. Oh, not for taking the doll, as her mother would have it. No, it was for having to take it back to a girl who would never love it.
She never played with Veronica again after that. Nor did she ever know what became of the beautiful un-Barbie doll.

Author's Note

My first experience with guilt that I have memory of.

Reviews

[cartera]

Beauty is in the heart of the beholder until others tell us what is and what is not beautiful. The pain of childhood experience lasts a long long time, as this, you tell us, has. Often. It is universal. And you have fulfilled one task of the writer, to convey the pain and help the reader feel it. I felt it. You can write as sensitively as you feel.
Atb
Alex.

[Rogue]

Thank you for your thoughts here. I truly appreciate you taking the time to read this. :)

[Arutha]

First off, I love the story. It completely sucked me in, and I seriously relate to it (I think most of us bookworms probably do ;-D). I even felt a hint of vicarious chagrin at the end there, which is a sure sign of a great story. Plus, I think it really embodies the fear that more-and-more people feel in terms of the modern state of our world (particularly in developed/developing nations). I think you paint a perfect picture of the exact kind of attitude we are instilling in our children, one where waste is encouraged and everything is a fad.

I did wish there was a bit more detail. This is actually a lesson I'm still learning personally, that being the simple fact that enough detail always feels like too much detail when you're in the process of writing it. I feel like the tempo of this story is a bit fast, like it could be slowed down a bit with more description of what's going on both externally and internally with regards to... well 5-year-old you. ;-D Because you actually lived this, I'm confident that you know even more detail about the subtle nuances about what was really going through your mind at the time, and that's exactly what I would love to read about.

I also wanted to mention this: "It seems Veronica's mother..." Here you've briefly switched from past to present tense.

[Rogue]

Hi. I thank you for stopping here and your thoughts. There is a Part 2 to this as well. I mention only because these are long thoughts of memory stream... Not really "stories" per se. I had to label them something though. I do indeed have stories written here though. Most are among my last few pages. If you are interested. Mostly horror, but some fantasy, Sci Fi and fantasy/romance as well. :)

[Arutha]

Oh, well my apologizes and I will definitely comb through what you've got! ;-D

[Pollai]

This is a very nice write Rogue, a sad story that most of us can relate to. I remember giving my friend a gift for his 11th birthday or so and he thought it was too childish for him. Thank you for sharing :)

[Rogue]

Pollai, thank you. Kids can be thoughtless and quite insensitive at times. I appreciate you reading. :)

[TL Boehm]

wow. Anyone who says children are innocent does not remember being one and or has never had the pleasure and horror of raising one or several. Especially girls. Boys are terrors. They smell funny. They destroy things. They beat the crap out of each other. But girls. Girls go for the soul. The soft squishy center. This brought back so much to my memory of cruelty at the hands of "friends"
Such a powerful write. And you stayed true to the "young voice"

[Rogue]

The difference just a few years can make in the mindset of a little girl... Before superficiality is introduced and after...
Thank you for your thoughts here. :)

[Bhumi Motwani]

wow! interesting as the topic which actually pulled me towards this story and surprised me completely :)
great work :)

[Rogue]

Thank you. I appreciate you reading and your kind words here. :)

[cartera]

Oops. Should read Often it is universal. Apologies.
Alex.

[Rita L. Sev]

My first reaction to this story is to be as frustrated as little Rogue was, at the callous treatment of the "label-less" doll. There are many lessons to be learned here! You told this story so well, I could feel that guilt - and the real reason for it. I hope your dolls knew they were lucky to have you! :)

[Rogue]

Thank you, Rita. :)
I am not sure what brought this memory back up from the depths. But, as I examined it, it was as if I was there all over again.

[Travis Gibson (poetic h..]

"She went quietly back to her seat. Off and on she took peeks at the unwanted doll on the ground." I could feel the anxiety, I've been there as a child. Didn't have a whole lot coming up, sometimes you envy others not for what they have, but for their lack of appreciation of what they have. Well done... this was a delightful story that concluded with great depth.

[Rogue]

Thank you, Travis. :)
Childhood innocence.. The things we feel are precious through those untainted eyes...

[Travis Gibson (poetic heroics)]

Yes, I envy those eyes I saw the world through for such a brief time.

[Samuel Dickens]

That really sucks. Gift-giving can often be a risky business, even for adults, so there's just no way a five year old is going to come through such a thing unscathed. Seeing the pain it caused, I wish your mother had gone out immediately and bought you the identical doll. One thing-- I got a little confused sorting out the various "she's" you used. Giving yourself a name would clear that up, I think.

[Rogue]

Thank you, Sam.
And I understand about a name here, but calling a five year old me "Rogue" seemed a little pretentious and out if place. :)

[Ken Simm.]

This is a story about more than a little girl and her dolly present. This is something we could all learn from. Adults and children. Remarkable.

[Rogue]

My reply may be a bit lengthy here.. Bear with me. :)
I think there were a few factors in play here: One was the time. They didn't do heavy advertising for children on TV then. There was some, mostly cereal and games (the "pretty sneaky sis" of connect four and the "you sank my battleship" of battleship). So when it came to Christmas, etc... We were handed the big "Sears Catalogue" and allowed to look through the toy section and make lists.
Two: My parents never believed in a room overflowing with toys. So I never had an excess that made them commonplace to me.They balanced inside toy giving with books, art supplies and outside toys. I had a regular sized toy box filled with toys and a shelf for dolls to rest on and a few stuffed animals. There was no overflow and everything could be out neatly away. They believed if it wasn't the dead of night, pouring rain or bitter cold, I should be outside anyway.
Third: Around five or six is the age most little girls get their first Barbie. She wasn't quite the star she is now. There weren't whole store isles dedicated to her. She came in a swimsuit and you could buy, or your mother could make clothes for her. Barbie is a tricky doll for a five year old. She is not like the others. They are used to dolls that they interact with and mother or teach at that point. Babies for little girls, so to speak. Barbie is different (besides breasts, butt and long legs) in that she (in play) interacts with the other dolls around her. She is not one to be mothered and usually does not interact directly with you as the person. This can be a bit difficult for a young child to understand and the first Barbie usually is treated and drug around like their baby anyway. By eight, a girl usually has four or five (if not more now) variations of this doll and understands the more adult play mindset with them.
So for me, the un-Barbie was just another baby to be loved. Perhaps not remarkable, but real innocence at that age. Because that's what you were supposed to do with dolls. They were babies. You mothered and loved them.
Thank you, Ken for taking the time to read this. I really do appreciate it. Always welcome your thoughts, my friend. :)

[Rogue]

isles = aisles

[Ken Simm.]

My Mother was tight fisted she once dropped 10p and it hit her on the back of the neck. My birthday is Dec 23rd and so she always, and I mean always said, "You'll only get one present mind and be grateful for it". My father stole my first bike and wrecked it on Boxing day. So he was no help.
She was happy to discover that when I was 18, (I'd left home anyway) the official coming of age was 21. Whereas when I was 21 the official age was 18. So she didn't get me anything. I saved up and bought myself a stereo which were just coming in then, (early seventies).
The upshot of all this was that I didn't have many toys when growing up and that is why I spent most of my time in the fields and hedgerows. That last bit is not quite true, I did have toys they were just found growing, or left in the same lanes, fields and hedgerows. I think that is why I started painting. I really didn't understand toys.

[Rogue]

But it makes for fearless children don't you think? All that "outside". As I ran barefoot in my dresses, I wandered miles away and my parents never knew. Splashed in creeks and lakes before even knowing how to swim (what was drowning? I learned to flail properly and keep myself above water.) no fear of falling from the trees I climbed, running through the woods, hiding in box cars and walking across train trestles... Just ran free. Often can home covered in muck, scratches and even blood. I didn't care. Went and did it all again the next day. My first ten speed, I was ten I think. Front brakes locked on me and flipped me over the front bars and I landed on my head. I payed there passed out on the concrete (what had began as early afternoon and was almost dark when my eyes opened again). Limped home when I woke up and no-one had a clue. -shakes head- Just no fear.

[Ken Simm.]

I had more fear inside the home than outside. Far more.

[Rogue]

I did too. Not in my parents treatment of me, but in each other. Dishes flying, plates full of food flung, chips in the paint on the walls from it, endless yelling, both abusive to each other but never us kids... But, as I pointed out in a story you've read of mine... Dysfunctional? We didn't know the word. Just assumed that's what everyone's home was like. So, I am not one to look at them and blame them for my life's problems. They were (as you pointed out in one of yours) just redoing what the generations before them did... A straight line... One myself and my siblings have all broken and is no more.

[Ken Simm.]

That is exactly right. We did not know better. It was what it was. I've just sent you a message and link about this; but don't feel obligated in any way.

[Rogue]

I got it and answered. You know I am happy to read whatever you have. You could write "My dog has fleas." And I'd read it. I have no doubt every nuance of those pesky creatures would be discovered and learned in your amazing, descriptive narrative. :)