Sunday, March 6, 2011
I was eleven years old when I asked for and received my Madame Alexander doll for Christmas. It was 1960 and I was perhaps old enough to own such an expensive doll. I read "Little Women" many times and still have my copy from 1957. I couldn't see the movie enough and would sneak out and watch it if it came on The Million Dollar Late Show. I wanted all of the dolls, but had to choose one. I thought and thought. Which one was most like me? Oh, how I wanted to be Jo, so strong and giving. I wanted to be Beth, so kind and caring. Alas, I decided that I was definitely Amy. Christmas morning she was propped against the chair by the fireplace just as all Christmas dolls were. Amy was magnificent in the blue and gold Madame Alexander box.
I took care of this doll. I did not dye her hair with mercurochrome as I had my Miss Revlon doll. I didn't give her any haircuts. I didn't stuff her in the pipe of the sump pump and see how far she could water board out into the yard. I didn't give her a make-over with dark red polish. I just washed and ironed her clothes and straightened any fly away hairs. She grew up with me and lived in many different places and homes. Once her rubber band between her arms broke and my husband took her to immediate surgery for repair. Other than that and the loss of her original pettiloons (I think I washed them once too many times) she remains the same today. I have had my Amy for 51 years.
Sometimes I think about donating her to the Doll Museum. I don't want her to end up in a garage sale if something goes wrong and I wear out too soon. I haven't been able to part with her yet. I just bet on the fact that I will have a few more lucid years and take my chances.