Kathryn Compton, Editor
Mom showed love with dolls,
dresses
When I was little, there was no way you could have convinced me
that my dolls weren't real. I knew their personalities, I knew
their tastes, and I knew I was in good company when they surrounded
me. I didn't have an abundance of dolls, because my family didn't
have an abundance of money. But every Christmas I got at least one
doll, sometimes two. Mom always intended Santa Claus to bring only
one doll, but if she, on Santa's behalf, bought a doll that was
nice to look at but not soft, she couldn't help herself: She had to
go back and get us a sweet baby doll as well.
One year, she gave my sister, Donna, and me matching dolls. They
had the desired effect when Donna and I burst into the living room
on Christmas morning and saw them under the tree. Our enthusiastic
delight dampened when we picked them up and discovered that they
were stiff as boards and all they did was walk. Happily, at the
back of the tree were a couple of bundles that turned out to be our
new babies - complete with bottles, diapers and all the gear
infants require.
We hugged them and rocked them and sang to them; fed them and
burped them and changed their diapers. Little did I know that they
were Mother's way of planting the seeds of grandchildren in her
future.
The only non-baby dolls I recall loving were our little Madame
Alexander dolls. We didn't have an assortment like some of my
friends had. Just one doll apiece, a brunette for Donna, a blonde
for me. But each year for Christmas, and throughout the year
whenever she felt inspiration, my mother made tiny clothes for our
tiny dolls.
When I look back at the detail she put into these miniature
fashions, I'm simply amazed - little fur caps and matching capes
with braid and frog clasps, nurses' uniforms, pretty party dresses,
formal gowns. I know now that the dolls were as much for Mother as
for Donna and me - an outlet for her abundant creativity and also
maybe a way she could have in miniature the wardrobe she wished she
could see in her closet. The intricate, lovely fashions were also a
means for a woman challenged by the mushy stuff to say, "I adore
you, my sweet daughters." Now that I've realized this, I will
always carry that communication in my heart.
Happy holidays to each of you. May your lives be merry and
bright.
Kathryn
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