| |
This Christmas I have asked for
an Alice in Wonderland doll. She will be delicate and small,
in a blue pinafore, with pale yellow hair. I will carry her in
my arms, she is so pretty. I want to be like her.
But on Christmas morning, when we open the living room door,
something is not right. I search the room with my eyes. The ornaments
on the tree are faded in the morning light. My brotherÕs
yellow truck is there. But I see no doll - no small, feminine,
fine doll. Then, my eyes stumble on something that does not fit,
that cannot be. There by the book case, is a misunderstanding.
I want to cry and shout and throw something at it. But my mother
is watching, and I am quiet, smiling.
This thing is as tall as I am, at least five feet tall. It looks
like a rag doll. It is a rag doll! I hate rag dolls! This one
is clunky and huge, its round head as big as mine. It has fat
yellow strings for hair, and wears a white blouse with clumpy
sleeves, and a blue dress with a red checkered apron like my
grandmother. This is not Alice! What was my mom thinking?
My mom has no idea about femininity - she herself is big and
clunky like this doll, with a large red mouth, like the dollÕs
semi-circular red smile. The dollÕs feet are big and round,
like black beans. Her tubular legs are striped! This doll is
not Alice. This doll is clumsy and large like my mother - and,
I fear, like me.
My mother is smiling anxiously. She can see I donÕt like
this doll. So I go over to the thing, and pick it up, and smile. ÔYes,
sheÕs fine,Õ I lie. Because on the outside my mother
is big and healthy, booming with energy and confidence and laughter,
but inside she is delicate, and I treasure her love like flowers,
and cannot stamp on them.
|
