Little girls and their dolls, inseparable, best friends, until you wake up one morning and realize they’re a bit freaky. For a brief time in my childhood, I decided dolls were evil and needed to be destroyed. Well, I’m not certain I thought they were evil, but they were (and are) disturbing. Maybe I just outgrew toys in general and needed an excuse to get rid of the dolls.
The doll-killing spree consisted of Barbie and Ken – who were not boyfriend and girlfriend in the traditional sense – and G.I. Joe. In my world, Ken preferred the company of G.I. Joe. Back in those days, Ken and Joe felt as though they couldn’t reveal their true relationship. It’s very sad that the world is so intolerant, but that’s an entirely different topic and too serious to discuss here.
Barbie was the first to go because she was the most annoying of the dolls. Her haughty accessories and outfits irked me, and don’t get me started on those breasts, the RV camper and Chevy Corvette, which has likely been recalled by GM. Unattainable perfection and flagrant materialism wrapped in plastic; sounds like many popular celebrities today. She was a terrible role model.
Her fate was put into the hands of the high-speed, bustling highway in front of my childhood home. At sunset, I placed her in the middle of the road and waited for the next unsuspecting motorist to happen along.
Now don’t worry, back in those days, it was quite safe for an eight-year-old child to play in the street, just as it was safe to ride standing up in the bed of a truck or bounce around unrestrained in the backseat of a car. Car seats were for sissies!
From my discreet location behind a shrub on the hillside, I watched and waited. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, and then came the roar of an engine. Closer. Closer. Closer. Wham, crunch, smash! Barbie traveled a great distance.
I’ll spare the gruesome details of her demise, but let’s just say she endured several more hit and run accidents before she was completely demolished and strewn in a hundred pieces in and along the road. Ken and G.I. Joe suffered a similar fate.
I would like to add that I wasn’t alone in my doll destroying endeavors, as my two brothers had a giant hand in their destruction. I think they might have been the ones who suggested it in the first place because I was a good girl.
Looking back, it hardly seems normal to do such a thing, but let’s face it, we were bored. We latchkey kids had to fill the parental void with something entertaining. Destroying our toys seemed to be a sensible pastime. Today children destroy, kill and maim characters in video games. The two are not so different. Barbie and friends were my Grand Theft Auto of the time. I no longer commit such heinous crimes against dolls, but I do occasionally enjoy a good fighting video game. It’s good for stress relief.
Admittedly, over the years, I have developed a slight fear of dolls that I can’t explain. Dolls are creepy! I’ve always thought so. It’s their vacant eyes boring a hole through your soul. They never stop watching. Perhaps the dolls of the world seek vengeance for the doll-killing spree so long ago. Their mission is to drive me crazy, but the joke is on them. I arrived at that destination long ago.
If you would like to read the other installments of Childish Memories and pass judgment on my strange but wonderful childhood, take your pick…