We all have a few memories from our childhoods that stand out as being more memorable than the rest. For me there are many, but one I always go back to, especially now that I have two daughters of my own is a memory of one of my sisters birthdays. I am not which one. My parents were also very diplomatic at birthdays. They didn’t waste their time explaining that getting a birthday was reserved for the child whose birthday it actually was. We all got gifts. The birthday girl got a big lavish gift, and the other two got lesser, but equally delightful gifts. On this particular birthday, I got everything I ever wanted and it wasn’t even my birthday. I got a Barbie. A real Barbie.
I will never forget opening the pink box and delicately taking this coveted doll from her packaging. I remember pressing her hair to my little face and inhaling so deeply. She smelled amazing. A fruity, exciting smell. I was in love.
I played with my Barbies long into my teen years. I know that is a little odd perhaps, but these dolls and their clothes, and their little accessories gave me a world to escape into. A world filled with innocence and possibility. And now that I have daughters of my own, I find myself once again being drawn into the world of magic and wonder and possibility.