Marie Antoinette And The Triple Amputee

published in The Fauquier Times-Democrat Weekend, 12/17/2010 and in The Fauquier Times-Democrat, 10/11/2005.


With Christmas just days away, I’ve been thinking a lot about toys. Well, not a lot, but for the past five minutes, at least. I know I’ve had months to think about, if not act upon, it. After all, the Christmas shopping season officially began on July 5th. It used to be August 1st, but faced too much competition with the Halloween displays that now go up concurrently with the back-to-school specials. Next week, look for Valentine’s displays.


Are my kids the only ones who continue playing with toys they have destroyed?


When my eldest daughter received a porcelain doll for her fifth birthday, both she and the younger daughter stood with mouths agape, marveling at this beautiful object. Being only slightly over two-and-a-half, the younger one was allowed to touch it only under severe supervision by the elder.


A year later, the elder received a second, larger porcelain doll from my parents. This was to be the start of a collection. (My eldest son started a light bulb collection at age three; in practical terms, it was all the same to me. Those were his admired fragile objects.)


My daughter tends to be overly generous, and typically regrets it later. Soon after she had neatened the new doll’s dress, she looked at her younger sister who was still months away from turning four. She carefully brought down the first doll. Yes, the very one that had been dressed, redressed, and kept so carefully for an entire year. “Here,” she said gravely, “now that I have a new doll, you can have this one.”


The little sister looked up in wonder at the generosity of this benevolent being. She smiled, hugged it gently, cradled it, and held it to the light. It was a moment to remember, a Kodak moment if ever you saw one. And then…the doorbell rang.


It doesn’t matter how many times you tell the kids that the Boogey Man could be lurking outside the door, that he would be just the audacious type to ring the doorbell before swooping them out into the dark of night. No, tell them fifty times, and still, when the doorbell rings they all hurtle forward, jockeying to be the first to get it.


Our three-and-a-half year old daughter had been the proud owner of that coveted porcelain doll for about two minutes when the doorbell beckoned. There were the usual shouts of “I’ll get it! No! I’ll get it!” when we heard a “chink” followed by a dampened thud. I don’t remember whose eyes and mouths were rounder, but there it was…the doll had been decapitated.


That look of regret passed over the eyes of the six-year-old. You could see she was reconsidering, just a bit too late in this case. Each of them, considering the doll to be her own, was crushed, even more than the doll itself.


We thought of gluing the doll, but in the meantime, she was dubbed “Marie Antoinette.” Oddly enough, the younger continued to play with the rest of the doll, putting its stockings, shoes, and dress on and off. If there are any psychologists out there, kindly do not call me. I can get all the advice I want from the grocery store bag-persons who have, in the past, psychoanalyzed my child seated in the cart. Dressing a headless doll might seem a bit macabre, but you must agree that, minus the head, it is loads easier for small hands to accomplish.


Then, because we laughed our heads off (pun absolutely and disgustingly intended), they had to know who Marie Antoinette was, so we checked out books and read about her. About a year later, we finally did hot-melt-glue the head back on, and while the doll was never restored to its original condition, it continued to be quite a conversation piece.


I’ve noticed that the third installment of the Toy Story movie is out, just in time for the Christmas theater experience. I remember when the first one came out. When my middle son was two (a decade ago), he was thrilled to realize that the big Woody and Buzz Lightyear dolls (sorry, “action figure” is the masculine term required here) were associated with the movie. He would stand at the head of the stairs, shout “To-itty and B’yond!” and repeatedly toss the hard plastic Buzz figure in attempts at aviation. Buzz did not fare very well.


What was left of this doll was just the trunk and one complete arm. As a testament to the engineers, its wings and voice still worked. The helmet, head, and amputated limbs were stored safely away, just in case, even though it was beyond the scope of our usual panacea, hot-melt-glue. The kid continued to play with the Buzz torso. What is wrong with my children?


This year, to simplify things, I plan to give my children a cardboard box with bubble wrap, Styrofoam peanuts, sticks, and dirt and water. That’s what kids really like to play with. If you’re interested, I’ll make you a package too. For you, just $ 19.99, of course.