For the Children

At some point in our lives we have probably all learned about forgiveness. The lesson is that the one who has hurt us may not deserve it, or be sorry, but forgiving them is something we do for ourselves. We understand that what we hold inside hurts us more than it hurts them. We forgive to let go of the power that pain has over us or how it consumes us. 

The same principal applies now. I think we need to let go of the power the stress, anger, and frustration with our country and the pandemic has over us right now. We can’t let it ruin the good things or the relationships we have worked for with our families and friends. We all have reasons to be angry, but personally, I feel like it is consuming us on most days.

When I speak to friends and family we are having the same conversations over and over. We still can’t believe this is happening. We have no control over our lives and do not know when this will end. We don’t understand what happened to our country. We fear for the future of our children and grandchildren.

Here are some things that I feel outrage over almost every day: the mishandling of the coronavirus and what it has taken from all of us, conspiracy theories and lies, outright hatred between Americans, continuing systemic racism, the election vitriol, social media comments, climate change, the widening division of America. 

Sometimes we talk about nothing else. It’s all negative. It’s all frightening. The children are listening. This is their childhood, when they should feel safe and look forward to their future. I am angry and sad about what the year 2020 this has taken from them. Not just school, birthday parties, and playdates, but stress free adults in the background talking about whatever it is we used to talk about—sports, music, movies.  All they hear now is politics, masks, protests, people ranting.

How do we block it all out once in a while? How do we stop caring about what is happening in the world? How do we take a break from being informed and aware and give our hearts a rest?

Winter is coming and I think we should prepare. We should treasure being in our homes with those we love. We should focus on our health and safety and know that there are millions of humans who have lived through worse than this. I worked with children all of my life and I don’t entirely agree with the notion that children are resilient. In some ways this is true, but their psyches can also be damaged in childhood by seemingly small events or words or things they don’t have the capacity to understand. Children get their emotional cues from the adults around them and if we are constantly raging, eventually they will feel the same—they just won’t understand why.

Give the children a break. Give your heart a break. We cannot completely ignore the mess we are in now, of course. But we can try to contain its control over us and not let it ruin our otherwise beautiful lives. 

My Cleveland Christmas Memories

This essay was previously published in the book Cleveland Christmas Memories - edited by Gail Bellamy

It’s probably a good thing I wasn’t born in the 40’s or I would have morphed “A Christmas Story” into my own Cleveland Christmas memories by now. However, there are moments in the iconic movie that are very reminiscent of my own youth.  To be born in the 50’s and raised in the 60’s in a middle class family meant that nothing much happened. 

It is difficult to describe the simplicity of those years to the current generation. It is the  scarcity of material possessions, the absence of media and ubiquitous electronic communication devices that make my generation's Christmas memories so unique.

The truth of the matter is that my memories, I am sure, are almost exactly like all the children of my era—those of us fortunate enough to have parents who took the time to carry out all the relatively new traditions of an American Christmas.

How unique is a Mr. Jingaling or the Captain Penny show he appeared on? What about the enormous Sterling-Lindner tree with basketball-sized ornaments? There were animated figures in store windows that were thrilling.  Cleveland was a greatly endowed city and the 40’s and 50’s were glory days. Downtown Cleveland was a shopping mecca before the malls appeared.

My great Aunt Irene worked at the May Company. She was the only person I knew with a connection to downtown—the place of buses spewing gas fumes and people of color I had never seen in my east side suburb.  (I was also duly impressed that she had Dorothy Fuldheim for a neighbor.)

My mother would dress me up in my best dress and patent leather shoes and we rode the bus downtown so my mother could shop.  We would meet Aunt Irene in her May Company office cubicle and I would be ushered off to a playroom with strangers who would look after me while my mom shopped. (Stranger danger!)  I can still picture the playroom as a dark cavernous space.

There is one distinct memory I have of shopping on my own. I had to return a gift and was allowed to choose another. I remember visiting one of the downtown stores and becoming completely overwhelmed at the sight of shelves upon shelves of dolls. Dolls were my favorite thing in the world. Never in my young life had I faced such a decision. After a long deliberation I chose an angel ensconced in a pink dress with wings.   That’s the whole memory, so why is that image of a wall of dolls still stuck in my mind from so long ago?  It is because of the sparseness of images our minds held in those decades. The abundance and onslaught of visual information that children now know from birth was missing. Every new experience was formidable and memorable. None were made from movies or television—they were real experiences.

Standing on a sidewalk in blustery Public Square to see mechanical characters in a store window would hardly be a destination now, but then it was a thing of beauty.  Christmas shopping at Twigbee’s with our few dollars or coins is nothing to the amount of time children spend at Walmart or Target now.

And Mr. Jingaling? What a weird old guy! Can you imagine treasuring a cardboard key? Yet, we did, and life was grand.

COEXIST XXXVII - My Worldview Part 5

(See last 4 posts)

The tragedy in the lives of most of us is that we go through life walking down a high-walled land with people of our own kind, the same economic situation, the same national background, and education and religious outlook. And beyond those walls, all humanity lies, unknown and unseen, and untouched by our restricted and impoverished lives.
Florence Luscomb
architect and suffragist
1887-1985

My last five posts have encapsulated my worldview on current topics. I think this quote sums it up nicely. I have just a few more topics to touch on.

I watch a lot of TV reruns from the '60's like "I love Lucy", "The Dick Van Dyke Show" and "The Andy Griffith Show." I realized a long time ago that I was still drawn to them because they reminded me of my childhood. I was the same age as Opie Taylor and Richie Petrie so it is like watching those wonderful years all over again.  The sense of simplicity and security and love in those shows has always been comforting to me. We all wish for "the good old days" in some respect.  But we are not living in those times any longer:
China will soon be the #1 English speaking country in the world.
The top 10 in-demand jobs in 2010 did not exist in 2004.
There are 5 times as many words in the English language as they were during Shakespeare's life.
The amount of technical information is doubling every two years.
While reading this - 67 babies were born in the United States, 284 in China and 395 in India.
Students in school now are being prepared for jobs that do not even exist yet.

Wow. I am fully aware that my COEXIST way of thinking is idealistic. It is an ideal, a hope, a dream for the world. But if we have no ideals or dreams we have no hope. I believe those of us who have been blessed to be raised and live in middle class America are often short-sighted and sheltered. We have values that we feel strongly about. But our values do not align with reality sometimes. There is a whole world out there that is nothing like ours - with billions of other human beings - all God's children. As human beings we need to care for each other, resist judging each other and strive for peace.

Guns - kill people.   I say - just because it's a right doesn't mean it's right. Same with freedom of speech - when it moves away from civility and respect it's just abuse of a right.  I wonder how many people who carry guns around really ever have to defend their lives (with the exception of certain inner city areas).  The teenage boy in Florida would still be alive if the self-appointed neighborhood watchman hadn't had a gun. That's just the truth. That boy did nothing to deserve to die. Do we really want to revert back to the Old West?

Global Warming - There is overwhelming evidence and agreement of climate experts that humans are causing global warming. They have been warning us since the 1970's. If people are concerned about the world we are leaving to future generations in terms of economics, why are they not concerned about the planet they will live on?
(The hottest decade on record was 2000-2009 with 2010 being the hottest year on record - in the world - not just where we live.)
I remember years when Lake Erie was too dirty to swim in, but this summer I swam in its crystal clear water. I remember doing reports in school on dozens of endangered animals that are no longer in danger of extinction.  Things are better because of agencies like the EPA. Sometimes we need to be saved from ourselves.

If you do not believe in science then I hope you are not going to a doctor or taking medication. It is another case of entitlement - believing we should be able to live the way we want regardless of consequences. I have heard that some believe that God will save us from our consuming ways and abuse of the earth. But when has God ever done that? He does not intervene in tragedy. He does not prevent cancer or tsunamis or accidents - why would he save the planet He entrusted to our care?  Human lives are created by our own free will. It's what makes us human. Free will causes pain and suffering. Free will makes mistakes, but it also allows us to choose truth and beauty sometimes.
See 1 Peter 5:2.

So that's all for a while. I have no idea if anyone has even read any of this, but I am proud that I have come to the point in my life that I am able to articulate what I believe and why.  There were decades of my life when most of these issues never crossed my mind for various personal reasons. But now I am more aware of the world around me, and more aware of what I have learned over the years.

If you've taken the time to ever read this blog - thank you. God bless you.

Words from a Child

This is a poem written by a fifth grader in my school. I will not print his name but you can trust me - he's a fifth grader.


Cause sometimes I feel that way
Sometimes I need a friend
Sometimes I am all alone
I don't want to be a loser
Don't want to be bullied, NO
Because that's not me anymore

I'm right
I'm not a lonely
I'm not a loser
I'm not getting bullied anyway

Well, maybe sometimes that may happen
Maybe sometimes I fell bullied
Maybe sometimes I feel sad
Maybe sometimes it felt like they walked away
Because they don't like me

Let me tell you a story about my life
It started in third grade
People always call me words
People called me gay

People called me stupid
They called me gay because I hung out with girls
They called me stupid because I didn't get the answer right
But my mom said don't worry
They called you that because they got made fun of
So they do that to other people just for fun

They still call me gay
They still call me stupid
They still do that for fun
But it's really not fun for me
But I just ignore it now

Father's Day

Daddy's Girl
(originally published in "The Storyteller")

You will never again trust
as you did

when Daddy was twice your size,
his arms the greatest you knew,

they could straighten your baton
or chop down a tree in the front yard.

He won every game
and you were his best partner.

Driving in the Fourth of July storm
your dread of lightning and thunder

abated with Daddy's hands
on the wheel,

fearless, you traveld the country
with the deepest knowledge

that Daddy
would bring you safely home.

He never told you he'd give his life
for you, you were born knowing.

You never felt doubt until the day
he held your hands and then let them go.

Cleveland Christmas Memories

In the first half of the twentieth century Cleveland was a well established major city, endowed with the cultural arts thanks to people with names like Rockefeller. Christmas was a magical time. I grew up in a village in the eastern suburbs about 20 miles from the city, but it seemed like another world. In the city I saw people with different skin color than mine for the first time. The gaseous fumes from buses was foreign to me. My mother and I would venture downtown on the "rapid transit" and visit my great-aunt Irene who worked at The May Company, which later became Kaufman's and now Macy's. Sadly, all the downtown department stores are now gone. Back then the store windows would display elaborate Christmas scenes with moving figures. At The May Company I remember being relegated to a children's playroom so my mom could shop.

Higbee's was another department store. Established in 1929, it became Dillard's in 1992. Higbee's was a store with wooden escalators and revolving doors. It had a well-loved restaurant called The Silver Grille. It was THE place to see Santa. At Twigbee's, children could do their own shopping. But the best thing was to see Mr. Jingaling! Mr. Jingaling was a Cleveland Christmas institution for 25 years. His real name was Earl Keyes, which is ironic because Mr. Jingaling was the keeper of Santa's keys. Not only could you visit him on Halle's seventh floor (the other big store), but you could receive a coveted cardboard key. I still have one stashed in a trunk somewhere. Mr. Jingaling would come on the local TV station every evening during the season, so he was a celebrity.

I still remember his song -

Mr. Jingaling, how you tingaling

Keeper of the keys

On Halle's seventh floor

We'll be looking for

You to turn the key.

We still saw him occasionally until his death in 2000. Once I saw him in a store and practically had a conniption. My children were with me, but were completely unimpressed by the weird looking dude.

If you watch "The Christmas Story" this season you will see Higbee's prominently featured in the movie. Part of the movie was filmed on Public Square in Cleveland and you can go to see "The Christmas Story" house which is now a public attraction in an area called Tremont. (I was hoping to report first-hand, but I haven't made it there yet.) There was a "Christmas Story"convention in town a few weeks ago and 4000 people traipsed through the house to see the leg lamp.

From 1909 to 1968 there was another large store called Sterling Lindner. Every year it would put up a Christmas tree that was purported to be the largest in the nation. Another must-see. Other attractions from childhood included the lighting display on Public Square and at Nela Park (the GE plant). My dad made sure we had an annual trek in the station wagon to see all the lights.

These are a big part of my Christmas memories and I know they are to others my age as well. The magic existed because there weren't a lot of special things the rest of the year. My childhood was somewhat prosaic and normal, so an animated store window was something special. Making an effort to go all the way downtown to see the one and only Santa was so believable. Meeting Santa's helper in person - priceless!

I don't want to sound like an old fart, but I wonder what is special to children now? They don't have to wait in anticipation all year to see Rudolph or Frosty - they own them on DVD. Animations and special effects are a part of their everyday lives. Maybe - I hope - there are magical experiences to replace the ones we had. I know nothing stays the same - but sometimes I wish it would.

Childhood in Iraq

I don't usually do this but I'm going to use a newspaper article as the basis for my post today. It touched me and I wanted to share it. I will paraphrase from the Los Angeles Times article by Jeffrey Fleishman and Raheem Salman.

They describe two brothers Karrar 12, and Allawi, 10. The school year has started but these boys have never been to school because they must work to support their parents and eight children in the family. Their father is ill and has no job. Karrar says,

" I'd like to go to school. I've never been to one. Not a single day. My friends tell me school is very beautiful."

A man named Ali Rashed owns a muffler shop and gave the boys a job after seeing them collecting tin cans.

He says, "It is better for the boys here than in the streets where they face bombs and explosives. I don't think they will have a good future. They are not educated and their family can't help them. They sometimes don't have anything to eat. How can you have a future if you have nothing to eat?

These boys and hundreds of others have been "shaped by war, honed by poverty. They are witness to sectarian violence, Shiite militias, angry sermons echoing through mosques.....These children might not know grammar and punctuation, but they know what to do when the bullets come, how to take cover, to hide from the kidnappers, the militants and the soldiers."

A United Nations report found that 94 percent of boys in Iraq attend elementary school, but that drops to 44 % by high school. For girls, 81% start elementary school; 31% go on to high school.

Karrar says, "I would love to join the National Guard. When I see them , I love them. They are brave, and I love how they stand with their guns."

Children passed beyond the garage; a few had book bags and new clothes, or at least well-scrubbed clothes. Karrar's father, Abdul Bidan, who has stopped in to say hi to his sons, whispered, "He gets jealous when he sees kids with book bags."

Imagine.

Happy Halloween

One of my favorite Halloween memories is the year my girlfriend Patty and I went out as the Laugh-In characters Gladys Orphmsby and Tyrone. Whenever someone would answer the door I would start hitting Patty with my purse and calling her a dirty old man and we'd laugh hysterically every time. Upon leaving we'd say Merry Christmas and we thought that was really funny as well. I wish I had a photograph of Patty and I , but this photo of Ruth Buzzi will have to do......And I just love pumpkins.

Time

Now time goes away like sugar

dissolved but still sweet, wafting

through the smell of burning leaves,

root beer floats, plastic dolls.

Hear the soft scrape of a snow shovel

or a rake, our songs in the back seat of a car,

my mother's voice at the piano,

the baby crying in a wooden-slatted crib.

Clusters of bicycles looped in tissue paper

decorate a neighborhood,

little legs pumping months after the snowman

in daddy's hat melted in the front yard.

Toads in shoe boxes, fireflies in jars,

water in a plastic pool soaking up the sun's warmth.

Children waiting through an unending,

capricious summer day.

Feel the quietude of a Sunday morning,

sense the sparseness of each new day.

Nothing happened today, but yesterday the milkman

and the crazy-haired egg lady delivered their goods.

Lying in a pile of leaves, dreaming

in the daylight, finding faces in the clouds,

waiting for something - but not knowing

the intermezzo would ever end.

A 10 year old girl's dreams

I'm sure no one else will find this as fascinating as I do - but recently my mom found something that I wrote when I was 10 years old. Here it is as I wrote it:

When I grow up I want to be a writer. I don't care if I'm famous or not. Just so I can write. If I do become a writer I would want to write about several things. I want to write about my life and add something different maybe or something that I made up about someone else's life. Maybe my days at camp. They were exiting. So many different odd things happened. I might call that book _____ days at camp. _____is for who ever I name the person. Or I could write about one certain thing like a kind of animal or different people from different lands. What I would really like to write about is something that happened to somebody maybe something funny or maybe something sad. I would like to write a book about a half inch thick. Maybe I could write about a girl in girl scouts and what she did, so the people who read it might join if they weren't already a girl scout.

Some of my dreams came true. I did write about my life and someone else's life and I did not become famous. I think my first book was a little thicker than a half-inch, but close enough. I don't remember writing this, of course, but I know that I always thought writing to be a most noble profession and to see your name on the cover of a book would be the ultimate experience - and that turned out to be true also.

Betsy McCall

Is this the cutest doll you've ever seen, or what?

Her name is Betsy McCall and she has been

preserved from my childhood (long long ago).

McCall's magazine had Betsy as a paper doll every

month. I think my doll was sent away for - not

ever available from stores. She sits in my glass

cabinet in her original adorable outfit. She's only

about 7 inches high.

Happy Birthday Dad

Tomorrow is my dad's 85th birthday. My dad is the kind of dad that makes all those birthday card verses true. I can't imagine having a more loving, kind and great man for a dad. My dad was the kind of dad that got in the kiddie pool with us and let us pour water on his head. He took us on vacations all over the country and, even after spending many hours in the car with three kids, he'd go miles out of his way to find a motel with a pool and a diving board. All my friends loved my dad. He makes everyone laugh. He finds humor in almost everything. We'd play practical jokes on him all the time because we knew he' d laugh and never get mad. (Like when we wrapped 68 golf tees individually for his birthday - hey, we were kids.) I could write the longest blog post in history about what a wonderful man he is and has always been, but you get the picture.

The school building I work in is one that my father went to as a child. The first day I walked into the building 14 years ago I saw an old photo on the wall of the office. I pointed and said - that's my dad! It was a photo of him sitting in the front row of his class. The secretary at the time said - oh, that's nice - and who are you? Anyway, the photo is still there. Dad is in the right front seat. Roxboro Elementary School is now 88 years old. Sometimes I'm walking down the halls of Roxboro and I try to imagine him walking the same halls all those years ago.

Happy Birthday, Dad. You're always with me.

Oh, to be in Kindergarten

The other day I got to be the visiting author in the kindergarten class at the school where I work. It was definitely the highlight of my day. I am used to the jaded attitudes of evil and hormonal fifth graders. Their teacher, my friend Lynne, instructed them only to ask questions and not make comments (or tell long 6 year-old stories).They had obviously been well-trained in this - but you could just see their little mouths poised to tell you what was on their minds. I showed them my book Flying Over Midnight, and they really liked the pretty cover. I told them that my Mom painted it and they had lots of questions about that. One little boy asked what she used to paint it and I told him it was watercolors. He said very knowingly, "I thought it was watercolors."

I got reprimanded by another when I didn't use his name to call on him "I told you my name is Loki!" (Sorr-ry!)

Then the question I was afraid of - what is your book about? We-e-e-l-l-l - it's a grown-up book about a woman who is a mom and she plays the piano. Luckily that threw them off track and all of a sudden I heard from everyone who played the piano or knew someone who played the piano. Whew!

Then I got questions like - how did you make the words? How did I make the words? You mean how did I think of them? I used my imagination. No, how did you make them? You mean did I type them on a computer? No! I thought you would use a pen! Oh.

After we discussed using our imaginations and how writers have to practice, practice, practice, and how even grown-ups make mistakes and have to fix them - their teacher asked me if I could talk about editing. (In kindergarten???) Yes, because the kindergarteners are learning how to EDIT their work! Then I got to see some of their writing and I promised to come back and make comments on any future work they wanted to show me.

At the end of our session Lynne asked me to tell them my dog-got-sprayed-by-a-skunk-story from earlier in the week. And even though they weren't allowed to tell me stories - right at the end a little boy scooted up to me and whispered all in one breath I had a dog and he ate some paint off the chair and we took him to the doctor and he died and then he went to dog heaven.

Amen.

Rantings of a Public School Teacher

Sometimes being an educator is like being on a ferris wheel - you take off all buckled in - you think it's going to be fun - you keep going around in circles - and you end up where you started. Culture, society and families keep changing with every circumference of the circle you travel, but some traits of children remain the same. They need structure, discipline, caring adults, role models, high expectations, encouragement, love etc.

Then again, some things have changed about children. School-age kids in 2008 (most,not all)have grown up being constantly entertained and are used to immediate gratification. They have participated in sports where everyone is a winner. They have been rewarded for doing homework and learning.

How does this translate in school? : Children who want to be entertained all day, be rewarded for doing their work and who don't have the tools necessary to deal with disappointment.

Then there are video games. Excessive violence in games + domestic violence = children who learn to react violently to everything.

Some five year-olds now come to school without knowing colors, shapes, letters or numbers, and yet the bar has been raised on kindergarten. The state says children should be able to read and do basic math before first grade!

So who teaches these kids how to take turns, how to wait in line without pushing and cutting, how to follow directions and complete work without a reward? Who teaches them manners and basic information? Who teaches them that fighting is not an option and that in real life sometimes you lose the game? TEACHERS.

If you are reading this then I am certain you are a parent who instills all those values and disciplines in your children. But be aware that your child's teacher has to spend a great amount of time teaching all that, plus refereeing and motivating children who haven't had the benefit of your kind of parenting. Whew! I'm exhausted!

Misty Watercolor Memories

What are the images held deeply and eternally in your mind? Which are true memories and which are memories from photographs? Sometimes I fear that much of what I remember comes from the split second someone held a small machine up - its eye to their eye - and let the shutter open on that moment in time. What about the rest of time when no one did that? What remains?

Which memories are real and true and which are changed with time? Or does it matter? My father is 85 years old and he tells stories of his youth with such clarity, his face filled with the emotion of that moment. He's feeling the impact again - 50, 60, 70 years later.

Memories are attached to emotions. How did it feel to wake up on Christmas morning as a child? (How did it feel when your mother said - it's 5 am - go back to bed!) How did it feel as the front tire of your first two-wheel bike hit a bump and you lost control, or to kiss the person you would marry for the first time, or to see a beloved grandparent in a casket? How did it feel to unwrap the blanket on your newborn child and try to comprehend that you had any part in creating a miracle?

We remember these moments because we remember how they felt, good or bad. It's, of course, all relative, good and bad. You can't have one without the other. I don't live in the past or dwell on regrets (much) but sometimes I allow myself to recall emotionally devastating moments in my life, and I recognize how far I've come and what I learned from those experiences.

The only thing I fear is not remembering my children's childhood and youth. It went so fast. Sometimes they recall things that I don't and we can share that. When they were small I didn't have much money, and film and developing were not always in the budget. A video camera was out of the question. But when I start wishing things had been different - I remember - I have THEM. My amazing son and daughter. That's what matters now. I still have them and we're still making memories.

Lucy, Andy and Dick

During any channel surfing session I will always stop at an I Love Lucy, Andy Griffith or Dick Van Dyke rerun. I'm sure I've seen all of them many times. Some were in reruns when I was a child! For a long time I asked myself why I still loved them. Why is it a warm fuzzy to see those familiar faces? Why are Lucy and Dick and Barney still so funny? Why is Andy still the best darn Dad and sheriff ever? I think I know why those shows feel like a winter-day-wrapped-in-a-crocheted-afghan-sipping-hot-chocolate. It's because it takes me back to a much simpler time. A time which was, quite literally for some of us, a care-free childhood. The fifties and early 60's are idealized in my mind as the perfect era to live and raise children. Life was simple, jobs less stressful, houses uncluttered with useless crap. We didn't want much then because there wasn't much to want.

Now we are totally dependent on technology to make it through every day. This sometimes frightens me (I write on my blog before sending it into cyberspace).

When Lucy and Ethel got in double-trouble they didn't have the frustration of roaming cell phones or crashing computers. If Laura Petrie burned the dinner there was no McDonald's or Pizza Hut down the street to rectify the situation - and Dick was still hot for her no matter what. Opie learned a valuable life lesson from a slingshot and a baby bird - he did not learn it on the Internet, nor did he miss the lesson while he was busy inside being killed by a video game.

I am now completely aware that those shows allow me to experience a world of simplicity that will never exist again. They also bring back a memory of watching them at home on the black & white TV on Christmas vacation and then doing the same with my own children (probably huddled together under a crocheted afghan in our drafty house).

I'm OK with progress and I love the fact that I can reach my kids any time on their cells - but I think it's OK to miss the old days and to still laugh at Lucy and Barney and Dick. But I never did like the Beaver - did you?

Trolls and Other Dolls

When I was around 8 or 9 troll dolls were the big thing. They came in a variety of hair colors and sizes. I recently found one in a box - a forlorn leftover -still naked with disintegrating hair. It brought back a fond memory.

Out of great love and affection I remember giving my dad a miniature troll with red hair for good luck. I recall taking the troll to the basement where my dad and his friends were playing cards. When I put it on the table next to him he willingly and good-naturedly accepted my token. I believe it sat there on other occasions too.

Remembering that as an adult, I realized that my dad could have just as easily shooed me away, embarrassed or annoyed, but he didn't. He accepted my gift and therefore me. Obviously I never forgot that.

Trolls are so ugly they're cute, I guess. I liked ugly dolls. My favorite was Poor Pitiful Pearl (really) a plain, waif-like doll in tattered clothes. She still sits on my shelf. Another was Lonely Lisa. A shrink might have a field day with this. When I decided to teach children with special needs my mom commented that it seemed natural since I'd always sided with the "underdog".

PS - I never owned a Barbie - but I didn't escape those ever-present body image issues. Rats.