The Doll Conundrum: Creepy or Cute

I recently celebrated a birthday. Family and friends showered me with kind wishes, visits, phone calls, lunch dates, and gifts. I felt so valued and loved. My heart smiled every time I got a text message or sweet post on social media. Despite being busy many made time to reach out to me.

Photo by S. St. George

Years ago, I received a gift that I still have today. My parents bid on a doll at an auction held for a young boy who was fighting cancer. This was no ordinary doll. This was a Patti Play Pal. She wore fancy clothing, had a tiara, and stood three feet tall. Dad was the highest bidder. Esther, as I named her after my favorite Bible heroine, rode home with us, sitting beside me in the backseat of our car. I found other clothes to dress her in throughout the years, and she modeled hairstyles for me. While not real, she was a friend who “listened” without judgment or interruption to my whispered childhood secrets and angst.

Decades later, Esther was not as beloved to my husband or children. She invariably startled my spouse with her realistic size and expression. She “lived” in our kid’s playroom/family movie room, and he would enter and start talking to her, thinking she was one of our children. Her dark hair and eyes could easily be mistaken for two of our kids. Relegating her to the closet was not a suitable solution. The unlucky person who opened the door and was frightened by her presence often yelled words that I won’t print here.

Our daughters would tuck her into bed in one bedroom, mimicking a sleeping child and then have a sleepover in the other bedroom. They'd "spy" on their father when he'd look in on them, thinking they'd succeeded. They often did!

Photo by S. St. George

The Esther saga continued. My son took to hiding her in the shower while overnight guests were over, posing her in the bathroom (use your imagination) or having her ride shotgun in his car, seat belted in beside him when he was old enough to drive. Many a driver did a double take at her outstretched arm, seemingly waving at them from the passenger seat. I'm amazed that she's survived the many shenanigans she's been involved in, through no fault of her own.

A conversation ensued when we moved. My husband wanted me to donate her. He called her "creepy" and likened her to the icky character in the horror movie, "Chucky". I categorically refused. Absolutely not. She'd been my friend for most of my life, and I was keeping her forever. And, although her original fancy outfit is long gone, she has other outfits. Some that even my own girls wore when they were her size. Now my grandkids will get to play with her and dream up other pranks as they get older where she will again, be the star. I hope she survives the next generation and that one or two littles will regard her as a friend.

Do you have a favorite childhood gift or nostalgic toy that you've carried with you to adulthood? Email me at stacy@wordsbystacy.com or leave a note on social media.