Firefly Creations

TROLLING BUDDIES

This is a story about little girls and their dolls. So if you were expecting a story about guys doing their fishing thing, I’m sorry.  Sometimes titles can be misleading.

Forty-five years ago, little girls received dolls for birthdays and Christmas.  There wasn’t much choice at that time—you got a doll or underwear.  If you were really lucky, you got both. The first doll I remember was named Thumbelina.  She had a soft plastic head, hands and feet and a cloth body.  She was cute and cuddly and had a magic bottle.  When you tilted the bottle up to feed Thumbelina, the “milk” inside disappeared.  When you finished feeding her, the “milk” reappeared.  That was pretty amazing to a five-year-old.  I never thought to ask why she didn’t need a diaper with all that she was fed.  She was easy to dress but there was only one outfit, so I spent lots of time taking it on and off.  By the time the next doll came along, Thumbelina was grubby and the magic bottle was broken.  The stuff inside didn’t taste like milk, either.

My next doll was a large one that came with at least ten different outfits.  The outfits were really nice; she had pajamas, dresses, hats, a coat and shoes.  Actually, she was better dressed than I was.  But she was a large doll with unbending arms and legs which made it hard to dress her.  My parents finally sold her to someone who would “appreciate” her more.  If I could have worn her clothes, I would have appreciated her more myself.  I can’t even remember if she had a name.

Then came Serenade; she came with a record player and record.  When you played the record on the player, the words and music came out of a speaker in her chest.  She was pretty cool but I got tired of the same songs over and over.  My friend Cheri and I (this is where the buddy part comes in) eventually thought of playing different records.  Hearing the Beatles blaring out of Serenade’s chest was vastly amusing to us.  It didn’t take long for the speaker to quit, though.

Cheri stayed at our house after school and during the summer.  Her mom worked and my mom babysat.  It was a really good deal for us.  By then, we were into playing lots of things besides dolls.  We made tents, went bike riding and one year even collected locust shells.  No, I don’t recall why; it just seemed important at the time.

About the time we were seven, troll dolls came on the scene.  (Ahh, now it’s coming together!)  They were ugly little hard rubber dolls with googly eyes, squashed noses and big ears.  They were about 3 ½” high with arms that stuck straight out to the sides and stumpy little legs.  Between their ears, coming out of a cavity in their heads were long strands of fake, furry, brightly colored hair.  They were fantastic.

Cheri’s doll had white hair and mine had bright yellow.  They didn’t have any clothes because there was no way to get them over the huge ears and stick-out arms.  So we improvised with lots of ties and safety pins.  We didn’t think real trolls would have been too fashion conscious anyway. We made houses out of shoeboxes and we even made a troll church with a stained glass window (melted crayons and waxed paper).  We made furniture out of cardboard which didn’t work very well since they couldn’t bend their legs or arms.  That year for Christmas I got a troll doll house; a little suitcase sort of thing that looked like the inside of a cave.  It was cool but we had more fun making our own.  I’m not sure where all the shoe boxes came from; my family didn’t buy that many shoes.

Those troll dolls went with us everywhere, even to school.  We would take them out on the playground where every girl who had a troll doll got together to compare hair color or a new outfit made from scraps. 

Georgette (Gigi, for short) was the only one of our friends who didn’t have a troll doll.  They weren’t very expensive but Gigi didn’t have money to buy one.  Her mother had left a couple of years before and her dad just never seemed to be home.  She had a teen-aged older sister, two older brothers and a younger sister.  They were being raised by their grandmother who we thought was a very mean woman.  Looking back now, I’m sure she was just overwhelmed with responsibility and money worries.  She was strict, that’s for sure.  Gigi couldn’t come to play until all her work was done and sometimes not even then.  She knew better than to ask for a troll doll; it simply was not in the budget.

But it just wasn’t fun playing with troll dolls when Gigi didn’t have one.  We shared but then that meant someone else was without a doll.   Cheri and I finally decided that we would pool our money and buy one for her.  My dad made a special trip to town with me to buy it and probably chipped in what we were short.  I found one that had beautiful turquoise hair and knew that it was meant for Gigi. 

We told our teacher what we had done and asked if we could give it to Gigi at recess.  Instead she sent us out into the hall so we could give it to her in private--that way no one but us would know that she hadn’t bought it herself.  The thought that Gigi might be embarrassed about getting a gift she couldn’t afford never crossed our minds.  We were just excited that now she could play with us with her own doll.  I’m not sure but I think our teacher had a talk with grandma about seeing the troll doll as a gift instead of charity.

Gigi moved away a year later and other than one letter, we never heard from her again.  I don’t know if that troll doll was kept as a reminder of friends left behind or not.  It doesn’t matter.  I came across my old doll the other day and called Cheri.  She knew where hers was too.  I doubt that my grand-daughter will show any more interest in it than my daughters did. Cheri has a grand-daughter too so we’re keeping them around just in case.  Maybe trolling buddies skip a generation.  You never know.