Nudity
It was a summer morning, not too hot, and I stood in the cool shade under a large
maple tree in my backyard. I took off my striped tee-shirt and enjoyed the breeze on my
chest. It felt so good, I decided to try and remember the moment. I was eight years old
and took seriously what I was told about childhood being special. I figured remembering
calamities wouldn't be a problem, so I put my efforts into filing away memories of the
mundane.
Mother called me in to tell me I had been invited to play Barbie dolls. I wasn't sure what
a Barbie doll was, but I knew it was by Mattel and therefore too expensive. Mother told me
to go and take my Tiny Tears doll.
At the Barbie doll party, a half dozen girls were swapping Barbie outfits and
demonstrating how to improve Barbie's out of the box hairdo by ratting her hair with a
toothbrush. Tiny Tears was not welcome. I was told to play in the corner and pretend that
Tiny Tears was Barbie's baby. The Barbies were not good mothers to their gargantuan
offspring, and were not charmed into visiting by her now passé ability to "cry real
tears."
Several girls told me that I had been seen outside without a shirt and it was wrong for a
girl to do that. At that I lifted my chin proudly and went home, where I begged my mother
until she bought me Barbie. I never took my shirt off outside again.
©1996 by Marilyn Knapp Litt
Return to Maybe Later . . . A Creative Nonfiction Webzine
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