Dusty Dolls in the Attic

The scene was reminiscent of a disaster movie: bodies scattered everywhere; some partially clothed, most nude. Enthusiastic wild eyes staring at me with maniacal wild grins.

“Girls!” I yelled, “Please get your Barbies out of the bathtub!”

I heard giggles from the hallway and gleeful cries of “Sorry daddy” as the girls whisked the dolls away to their rooms.

It started with a few dolls, but one day my wife’s friend brought a storage tub filled with Barbie dolls, clothes, and other accessories. After making the girls give away many of the dolls, we still had enough to populate a small town. The girls played with them for many years. My wife and I were always picking up tiny shoes, clothes, and the occasional Barbie head from every room in the house. Many shoes and accessories were stored in the vacuum cleaner bag, and I’m sure some became doggy treats.

Occasionally the doll mess was uncontrollable and my wife would put them in the attic for a week until the girls promised to put their toys away. One day the girls put the Barbies in the attic themselves. They haven’t been down in a long time. Even the dog misses chewing on a Barbie foot or wayward plastic high heel.

Instead of dressing up Barbie, they are dressing up themselves, brushing each other’s hair, and painting their nails with mom. Gone is the high-pitched little voice, “Bar-be goin’ shop-en. Want to play wif dis one daddy?” My little girls became young ladies.

When in the attic retrieving a suitcase or holiday decorations, I sometimes see the tub of dolls, still smiling, most of them still naked. I would give one day of my life to be able to enjoy another day with all of my children in their youthful innocence. I remember eating frozen yogurt with the little girls after a trip to the Botanical Gardens, watching them giggle and play with one another, and thinking, “I’m going to miss you when you grow up.”

And I was right.