This story, which may or may not be “true” in that it may
or may not have actually happened, is the companion piece to the blog, “Free Ugly Doll.”
Many years ago, I attended a rather intense weekend
conference on Educational Leadership. We convened Friday night after most of us
had spent the day in the classroom and then traveled to the conference site. On
Saturday we had back-to-back sessions all day. We finished the weekend with a
half-day of wrap-up meetings after breakfast Sunday. Most of us would be back
in the classroom bright and early Monday morning.
Saturday night after supper, many of us met in one of our
rooms to smooth out our frazzle over wine. We discussed the intensity of the
meetings and bemoaned the fact that we would need to bring our suitcases with
us to breakfast in order to head home after the morning meeting. As we relaxed,
someone mentioned, in the context of packing, that she always traveled with a
doll she had received in adolescence—a Raggedy Ann which her grandfather had
given her on her sweet 16th birthday to remind her to always keep a
bit of her inner child alive. Her grandfather did not live to see her 17th
birthday. Since that time, Raggedy Ann traveled everywhere with her.
We began sending sideways glances and shifting in our
seats. The occupant of the room went to a drawer and pulled out a small,
generic baby doll. He admitted to traveling with this doll which he had
received as a holiday gift as a child. His grandmother had given him a gun and
his female cousin a doll. His parents did not want him receiving guns because they
were pacifists. Her parents did not want her receiving a stereotypically female
gift. So the two families exchanged gifts—he got the doll and she got the gun.
With the wine, the admissions began to flow. Come to find
out, most of us traveled with secret dolls or stuffed animals—our comfort and
courage companions. I admitted to traveling with a small moose which I
“adopted” on a camping trip through Canada. Heading back into the States, I saw
“Thursby” in a store window in Sault Saint Marie, Canada. The shop was closed
for the day. I wanted “Thursby” badly enough that I spent an unplanned night in
Canada so I could bring the migrant moose back to the States with me. Since
that time, Thursby has traveled extensively with me. In addition, he sat with
me when I took my doctoral preliminary exams and my teacher certification
exams.
Another told of her Cabbage Patch doll, Molly. Her mother,
was not “crafty,” in that she had no talent for knitting, sewing, or
crocheting, while her grandmother could make anything out of anything. Her
mother, however, managed to make this Cabbage Patch doll, a proud accomplishment.
The next morning, we met groggily for breakfast. I propped
my suitcase against the wall, pulled out Thursby, and set him on top. My
companions from the previous night’s discussion likewise propped their secret
dolls on top of their luggage. When other participants saw what we had done,
many of them pulled their own secret dolls from their luggage, as well. The
weekend had been grueling, but we brought home with us an unexpected lesson in
human nature.
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