Sally asked me to purchase a doll that represents me.

One that is beautiful. One that shows all of the good that I am. I will talk to her as I would myself and tell her the things I wish I could have known when I was a child. She will help me heal skewed perceptions and memories from the happenstances of life.

I will speak to the doll as parent, only without the criticism and judgment. I don’t want to blame the parents. It is my own dissecting and discovery that needs to be done.

Sure, my folks weren’t perfect when dealing with me or my brothers, but one thing is sure, we were loved and cared for completely. I won’t lay blame with their ashes, which are buried in the water and the sand of their beloved Michigan. Our parents are inherently a part of us, the good, the bad, the happy, and the sad.

Survival is the most basic need of all human beings. Children know that survival is sure when caregivers keep them safe. What happens then when the caregiver does not do his or her job? What does the child do when threatened? Withdraw? Hide? Find comfort in something tangible? Where did she go when the storms thundered fear into her toddler heart. What did she do with the vexation of being left behind during a pivotal moment in the family’s life. What about being left behind in a church nursery with strangers? Is this a failure of the parents? No. The child was always safe. She just didn’t know it.

So, I travel to the store to look for the most excellent doll.

A plethora of glass-eyed faces, candy pink and chocolate brown. Blonde hair, brown hair, curly hair, no hair. One Asian-eyed doll. Plenty of Dora’s. Many Adoption papers from the Cabbage Patch, Snow White be-jewled in her brilliant yellow and blue gown. A whole department for big boobed Barbies. Why do we love big boobed Barbies anyway? Fantasy.

Babies with pacifiers – no I don’t want a baby.

No, she should have sturdy legs so we can walk.

There are dolls that would suffice I suppose. But, none really touch me in a positive way. If I am to spend the money on a doll, she must be perfect. She must have all the elements I like about myself.

What do I like about myself anyway? I like my hair. I like my teeth. I like my skin. I like my freckles. I like my bubbly personality. I think I’m a good friend. I think I’m a fair person, just.

How do I find all that in a doll?

I must start by being worth the effort to find her.