Little girl dreams
As a little girl, I had tons of Barbies. My absolute favorite was the first Ballerina Barbie that came out in 1976. When my little sister and I each received one for Christmas, you can believe there was squealing to the heavens.
I loved the tiny crown on her head and the frilly tutu (my favorite outfit was the gold and black number that I cannot find a picture of dammit!) I loved everything about her and took her with me everywhere I went.
Barbie was everything to me. She was a princess, a ballerina, a scientist, a doctor, an astronaut. She was all of the things that I thought one day I would be.
And shuffled within our Barbies were these other dolls. Tiny compared to the Amazon legged Barbie. Dawn Dolls. They were petite, and oh so graceful.
*sigh*
I had this dress. I miss this dress. I’m staring at the picture of this dress remembering all of the magical fantasies I created for the princess.
By the time I was 12, I had a developed a very strong sense of charity. My step-dad told me that my cousins down the road weren’t getting much for Christmas. So a wee Sabre packed up -all- of her Barbies, Dawns, and clothes, and presented them to my cousin (just the one, I was pretty sure her brother didn’t give a damn about no stinkin’ dolls) for Christmas. My cousin later shared the wealth and spread the dolls even further around the family.
And I never saw them again.
That is until my soul sister sent me a vintage Ballerina Barbie, which was received with the same amount of squealing and delight as the original. She sits ever so proudly on the Barbie shelf in my bedroom, along with various princesses and even Galadriel.
Yes, I, a grown woman with a grown child, have Barbies in my bedroom. Deal widdit.
My little sister? She has tons, and they have their very own room. Envious beyond words.