Around the holidays when my mother came to visit, we got busy making a little bed for the dolls Ava Scarlett was to receive for Christmas. My mother gave her one doll, and Santa brought her the other.
I ordered a bunch of stuff online and had it all shipped directly to the cottage, where we planned to spend our time. So, when we arrived on Christmas Eve, I became the greatest wrap-star you’ve ever seen (Kanye wrap these gifts, yo?) and put paper, bows, and tags on everything in a few hours, after the children went to sleep. Both dolls were with the shipment.
(I know. The clothes and the hairband are kinda hideous, but I don’t design these things…)
The first was tagged from my mother, and the second was from Santa. Both little dolls would have room to sleep in the bed.
On Christmas morning, my attention was scattered – my eyes were everywhere at once, in the way one gets when the presents-opening gets underway. She hadn’t really seen the little bed, but I did spy her unwrapping one of the boxes I knew had a doll inside. She opened the one from my mother first, and squealed and beamed at it, trying desperately to rip the box open to get it out.
I watched Oliver unwrap some of his things, while I exchanged packages with my husband, wishing him a Merry Christmas… and after the paper came off some other small things, I noticed my girl go for the other box that had a doll in it. I waited.
She had the box in her lap upside down at first, and her mouth hung open in surprise of a second doll, but when she turned it over, her face slowly slackened and went blank. She stared at it. I watched her eyes scan the doll up and down a few times, as she popped her thumb in her mouth, sitting on her heels. She cast it aside, and stood up suddenly… and went back to finish the job of getting the other baby out of it’s box.
I turned my head and bit my lip, trying to keep my eyes from watering. I didn’t say anything.
After some time sifting through all the stuff, and raking up all the paper and bits of ribbon to set for the trash, I pulled the little bed out from under the tree and said, “Did you see this? Grandma and I made it for your new babies! I think they can both fit in there… shall we try?”
She was overjoyed by the little bed and put the first baby in it right away. But, she was less enthused about opening the one from Santa.
Me: Do you want help with that box?
She: *sullenly stares at box*
Me: What’s the matter?
As if I didn’t know.
She: Well… I don’t really like this one very much.
Me: *deep breath* Why not?
She: I just think the other on is prettier.
Me: *exhales*
I tried not to cry, and I didn’t. I wasn’t upset that she didn’t like what I’d chosen for her, exactly. It was more because I understood. White babies seem more attractive when you’re surrounded by them all the time.
I should mention here that she has another black baby doll, made by the same company, that her other grandmother gave her once, sometime before she was two. She almost never plays with it, but I wasn’t discouraged about it. Children play with the things they fancy… she seems to choose the stuffed animals over the ones with baby faces. And she extremely fond those little Calico Critters and tiny figurines she’s forever messing with. She loves to make meals with her play foods. I wasn’t thinking about the fact that she seldom played with any of the babies. I’d always likened this to preference. Or perhaps stage development. I hadn’t really considered that she didn’t like the black one. The one that looks more like me.
I shrugged the nagging tears back and said, “Ava Scarlett? All babies are beautiful. Every single one. And these two are lucky because they get to be together, and sleep together in this cute little bed, and you get to be their mum. Why don’t we see if they both fit?”
She reluctantly pushed the box in my direction, and I opened it, untwisting all the ties in the back that held the doll to the cardboard backing. I admired her clothing, and showed her how the headband could come on and off… and I nestled it into the bed with the other, and tucked them in.
Me: There! Aren’t they cute? They’re like sisters!
She: Yeah… but they’re not twins.
Me: No, they’re not… but now they have each other, so neither one will be lonely. That’s a good thing, don’t you think?
She: *nods with thumb in her mouth*
Me: And you know, they’re the same size, so you can mix and match their clothes if you want to. That’s kind of fun.
She: Look! *points at each doll’s face* Big nose… little nose. *blinks at me*
And there it was – the “thing” that used to plague me when I was young. The distorted, almost dysmorphic view I had of my own self – of my nose being the widest… being the blackest…
I tried not to feel crushed.
Me: Well, everyone’s nose is different. There are no two alike, you know. Mine is different from yours, and different from Oliver’s. And daddy’s. And Holly’s… and Jed’s! Some noses are big, and some are small. *leans in* As long as they smell good… *taps nose and sniffs*
I lock eyes with her to see if she caught my joke. After a few seconds, she smiles and throws her head back, laughing her guts out.
She: Oh mummy, I just love this bed you made with Grandma Pat. Thank you SO much!
Me: You’re welcome! I hope your babies will be comfortable in there.
She: They’re going to sleep now…
And she did play with them often during the time we were there. We opted to leave the whole kit behind, since she hasn’t a lot of things to play with while we’re in the woods.
. . .
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Once, when she was still a small stroller-baby, while wheeling her through the aisles of the toy department somewhere, we came to the Barbie section. On display was a limited-time series of uber-fashionista Barbies that not only came with an array of accoutrement like shoes and sunglasses, little doggies and magazines, but they also came in an array of skin tones. There was a black Barbie with a short afro, wearing a black mini dress and sparkly shoes. She looked at it and said, “Dat YOU, mummy!” I smiled at her, and got a little lump in my throat. Sure I’d seen ones that looked like, say, Beyonce… but never one that looked even a little bit like me.
I’m not a huge fan of Barbie (at all) but I bought the thing immediately, and put it away to save for a later date.
This child is going to turn five in a few weeks, and Martin asked me just the other day if we should give it to her for her birthday. Besides the fact that I think she’s a smidge young for it, after this Christmas thing… I’m not sure she’s ready.
I’m not sure I’m ready. Not ready to have her reject the thing that looks like her mum, and to be disappointed that it doesn’t have blue eyes and long, flowing blonde hair. Which is what she wishes for her own self, I know – she tells me all the time. It’s what I wished for myself when I was small, too. Le sigh. I’ll be sad when she comes to loathe her beautiful brown curls one day…
These are the hard parts. I wish I had a better idea of what to do.
And I wish it didn’t make me feel like crying every time I think about it.
Got any ideas or advice, Internets?
P.S. My apologies for misspelling your name.
Tracy, I just saw this post, and what a timely post for me. I have a 19 month old daughter (half Canadian, half Kenyan). She has same the Corolle doll (Tiddoo?) on the right. I just realized that all her dolls look like “me” (the Kenyan), and just this weekend I was talking to daddy-O and telling him that I need to get her one that looks like him or like her to embrace both sides of her heritage (P.S. I am also anti-Barbie). My son (4 y.o.) discovered the different skin colours quite early. One day he came home from daycare and out of the blue said “I want a white mommy.” Boy did that sting! 🙁 We sat him down and explained that everyone is different, but everyone is beautiful in their own special way. Now he explains to people how daddy is white, mommy is dark brown (he says I am not black), and he and his sissy are “light up” (can’t get him to say light brown for the life of me, lol)! In hindsight, I wonder if this is why I have gravitated to the dark-skinned dolls for baby girl…as a result of my own insecurities?…At any rate, I love how you handled this with Ava Scarlett. I have “pinned” this post for reference down the road when baby girl is older and starts asking more questions. Your love for your children and your amazing “mommyness” for lack of a better way of putting it really shows in your writing, and it truly warms my heart. Keep doing what you’re doing, lady. You’re amazing!
But you have to admit that some of these black dolls are god-awful ugly. Sometimes I have to suppress a freak of laughter when I see one, and turn it into a polite eyebrow lift instead. As black Jamaicans go (that’s me) I have felt that pull, that dichotomy when black dolls were introduced to the market…did I like them? No. Did they look like anyone I knew? No. That stupidly unbelievable chocolate colour coated over ‘white’ features…what was that exactly? Was I being forced to be politically correct? When I was small I vaguely remember playing with a golliwog and thinking it was very cute. It wasn’t mine, I don’t think, but no one introduced the thought that it was a stereotype of my black self. It went with another rag doll with red hair called Annie, and that was that. She had the worst freckles and a crazy mouth. Just dolls.
But then, my environment was different. Dolls mainly came in blonde. Their blue eyes closed when you lay them down. Magic! But they were never an extension of myself. And the best ones had long, long hair.
Hang in there.
Wow – thanks so much, you good people – for all the kind words and such. I feel completely… HUGGED!! It’s great to be supported by this community, and it means so much to me.
It bothers me that this whole thing hurts my feelings… I’m trying not to feel rejected by her (and anyway, this really isn’t about me, or how she feels about me) but these kinds of things can strike a nerve, just when you’re not expecting it to. I hate feeling weepy over this, even though I know it isn’t “trivial”. I wish she hadn’t said she didn’t find the other doll as pretty. That gets me in the gut whenever I think of it.
I’ll force myself to stop thinking about it for a while. 🙂
Hi! As I have told you before, my Missy is half Jamaican half Canadian (i’m a mix of english/irish/scotish & danish – WOW!). She has really tight curly hair & LOTS of it. She no longer likes leaving it down or in 2 “puffs” – it has to be in twists or braids. She doesn’t mind the 1 “puff” on the top of her head.
I have bought her both white & black dolls & barbies, luckily, she plays with them all & I don’t think she sees the difference because she is in such a diverse area.
Her favourite princess is Tiana & then Cinderella, so it’ll come…just give her some time.
things we white people don’t think of! i only really thought about it when one of my youngest’s friends was upset because she really wanted the long flowing hair (hers is much like your daughters but not quite as loose in the curls and quite short). i debated giving her that barbie (the tracey barbie!) once for her birthday but didn’t know if i should, shouldn’t, is it my place? all these questions. i love that one, personally, cuz she does look like she has more swagger than the other ones in that series.
i think that no matter what we always look for greener pastures. even as adults we want curly when we’re straight and vice versa. my oldest has the long flowing hair but it rarely flows since it rarely sees a hairbrush! gah!
i love the way you handle things and particularly this situation. rock star mom-ing once again 🙂
I have a girl who doesn’t play with dolls and never thinks about how she looks…or smells 😉 She is now 10 years old and, I surprise myself with how much this actually bothers me sometimes. I am not into fashion. I do not dress up much. I am in awe of her ability to just accept herself. However, my own insecurities creep in sometimes and I ask her “don’t you want to dress up?”, “brush your hair?” , “wear a different shirt?” I am ashamed by this as I know that she has something I don’t – self-acceptance.
My point is that we bring our own experiences and insecurities to the parenting table and I admire your ability to see this in yourself when dealing with this. You rock!
Tracey, you are a beautiful woman and a beautiful mother and you handled that situation with sheer grace. And that’s all I have to say about that.
Oh Tracey, This post is so moving and you handled it so well. Many hugs from northern Ontario.
It makes me angry this beauty myth, and I don’t know a single woman who hasn’t been affected. Yes we need to build our resilience up but I think we also need to stop it. Stop producing ads, movies, television shows with unrealistic images of girls and women. I know a girl who has beautiful curly dark brown hair and lovely freckles. Her father is Colombian and her mother is Caucasian Canadian. Her hair and freckles are beautiful but she hates them, and she started hating them when she was very young, grade 3 I think. Le sigh.
More hugs.
P.s. I started to follow your blog … really likin it!
Dude – i don’t even know how to comment. What a beautifully, heart-wrenching piece. I really like Dren’s comment.
You are such an awesome mom Trace…she’s going to be golden.
Hi Tracey ~ I don’t often comment on articles but yours struck a cord with me. I loved how you talked with your daughter and the things you had to say. I believe your daughter will see things and feel differently as she gets older, especially with a Mum like you to guide her thru our world of beautiful multi cultures. I wanted to tell you a bit about my daughter. Yes, she loves Barbie, prefers the ones with blond hair to dark. Unless, its really really really long dark hair. But since she was about 3yrs old she has been in love with Tiana, in every way! She is now 5. She had a huge poutout on me as she was informing how she “wished she had been born with that beautiful dark skin, dark purple eyes and black hair!” and “it just wasn’t fair!” as she continued to tell me how Tiana had looked so different from the other princesses and she wanted to be like her! Hahahahahahaha, I admired that in her for noticing it and you see, she cudn’t be any whiter herself, she has long white blond hair and blue blue eyes and the palest skin ever! She has a Tiana doll and both my girls play with her often, if not fight over her. If she met you she would be running her hand down your cheeks and in awe of your gorgeous skin color! Maybe with some of our children its just simply wanting what we don’t have ourselves. Whether its curly hair, straight, long legs, petite, maybe I am over simplifying it. But continue teaching her what is important and she will turn into a lovely strong confident young lady!!
For what it’s worth, when my now 10 year old was very little, I overheard her whisper to herself “I wish I had a blonde mommy” .
She still will squeal with absolute delight on the rare occasions I get dressed up
Like I had finally realized how normal people should look) .
“Mom! You LOOK sooo Niiice!” The teen years are going to be F.U.N.
Oddly my second born never mentions hair colour or skin colour or even body size and she tells me all the time that I’m beautiful even when I am an utter hobo mess.
She only notices if you are wearing supersoft wool in which case she will conspicuously saddle up to a person molest their garment, after which she will muse to herself “I knew it was cashmere”. She’s a texture fiend.
Same gene pool. Go figure.
Later, I have to go extract a tooth now. byuk. I’d rather do so many other nasty parent tasks than remove wiggly teeth.
We/they always want the blonde ones. And the longer the hair, the better. My sister and I had a box full of Barbies, and as we grew older, we gave them all the raddest punk haircuts you’ve ever seen… dyed the tips with wet chalk, too. Your girls might just dig it!!
We live pretty close to the downtown core, but Montreal is pretty “pale” on this side of town – that’s just an observation – and environment plays a hand in this too, I think. Anyway, I think I might get her an Asian baby for her birthday, since she’s all about the dolls lately. Rainbows are beautiful.
And yeah, it’s tough to feel this one in the gut – it’s pretty hard not to, considering what she’s rejecting over what she prefers. It’s just one of those things, I guess.
Thanks for the support, friend. 🙂
Wait, before I remove the blonde barbies, one more experiment:
I’ll give one a very bad haircut and see if that levels the playing field.
Take that Barbie!
Thanks for your kind words, Jennifer – they mean more than you know. xox
Oh Julie, I know. I had an array of Barbies (given to us) and wished I looked like them. I wore a towel on my head and and swung it around like a Brady. “Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!!”
My daughter has some princess tattoos with ALL the princesses you can think of… she never wants to wear Tiana, no matter how often I tell her how beautiful I think she is, and how much I love her green-and-yellow dress…
I know this won’t be the end of this, but half the battle is shoring my own self up, I think. Beauty myths always rear their ugly heads from time to time – gotta have guts to slay the beast, I guess – no tears.
Thanks so much for reading, lady.
I hear you.
My kids are mixed Chinese/Romanian/Italian girls=dark hair.
Well of course the first thing my 10 year old will do once she is emancipated (old enough to get to drugstore alone) is to become a platinum blonde.
She has wanted this since she was like, 4 ….so she “can be beautiful”.
Nobody, nobody in our family has blonde hair.
We have every race of barbie made, every playdate they still fight over the fanciest blonde Barbie. Nauseating. I may just toss out the blondes to see what happens…
Having made the move downtown, our kids now have visibility to green hair and pierced dads and dual mom families and all kinds of hipster and grunge parents, I am hoping by osmosis they are learn it’s our difference that’s cool and beautiful.
It’s a hard and confusing task to be in charge of, self-acceptance.
Your stoicism is amazing, because it sure is a thing felt in the gut.
i
No ideas or advice, Tracey. All I can offer is my respect and awe at your beautiful writing, and a big hug for your shed (and unshed) tears. It sounds like you dealt with thing sso wonderfully. I could only hope to be so poised in the same situation.
Tracey,
This is a beautiful post, and tears welled up in my eyes as I read. I remember completing rejecting the black barbies for the beautiful blue-eyed ones. I wanted to look like them so bad. I would wear a towel on my head and flick my ‘hair’ back to be like Marcia Brady….
And I know what you mean. My 3yr old daughter has 3 princesses: Ariel, Cinderella and Tianna. She doesn’t play with Tianna at all.
My sweet little 5 year old boy on the other hand, has a twinkle in his eye whenever he watches a “chocolate” lady sing on YouTube. He takes after his daddy ;).