Lightning Bugz dolls …
Let the obsession begin
Having a daughter altered my world in ways I never could have imagined, but perhaps the one thing that has surprised me most is my reaction to the “girly” things I despised when I was child. I know my mother scratched her head not infrequently as I climbed trees, kicked soccer balls, insisted on wearing the same pair of burgundy cords and blue swish Nike sneakers nearly every day and vociferously rejected every bow, dress or hairbrush she pleaded with me to try. I was, without apology, a tomboy. I wore my tough girl badge proudly and defied anyone to change me into a “little miss priss” (as I was apt to call my much more feminine younger sister). Dolls? Better to keep them out of my sight lest they become fodder for one of my games. I recall that while on vacation in Florida my friend and I hung my sister’s Norfin doll to the ceiling fan just for kicks. My sister’s persistent wailing did nothing to soften my heart. Don’t misunderstand. I loved (and still adore) my sister, but I truly detested the endless stream of dolls that inhabited our shared bedroom.