They are watching me. By them, I mean the dolls! For some reason, everyone seemed to like giving me dolls, which scared the hell out of me with their glassy stares, occasional winks, and creepy “Mama.” I became obsessed with covering them up in my room. They sat on a table in the corner, directly in front of my bed. I preferred stuffed animals, but I had only a couple, while my doll collection had grown to 20 scary dolls in the corner, staring at me. I liked science and wanted a chemistry set like my brother Jimmy got. He got a cool microscope and lab slides that he would not let me anywhere near. Ricky got sports stuff, footballs, and baseballs. All he did was torture me by tossing the balls to Jimmy over my head, back and forth. I would be the fool in the middle, spinning around, trying to catch one. I got “We drink, wet, and we cry.” Great, another high-maintenance doll! I like monsters and models you can build yourself, like the ones my best friend Eddie got. “Don’t touch them,” he would say. I got baby Chatterbox, adding to the scare factor. I was obsessed with getting a model of the Star Ship Enterprise. I begged and pleaded, and I got a doll that grows hair instead. Thumbelina by Ideal was the only doll I played with, well, tortured. She no longer had clothes, and her hair was a hot mess. Poor Thumbelina had to take the brunt of my frustration with dolls. I suppose I liked her because she had a soft body like a stuffed toy.
GrowingOlderHopeWiser 
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