Today, I'm posting a story that appeared in a Christmas themed Chicken Soup for the Soul anthology about 10 years ago. The story is about a very special Christmas doll that I received at age 6 and how it has lasted through the many years since I received it.
Think about the very special Christmas gift you received as a child, one that you remember to this day. It's the perfect topic for a new writing project.
My Special Christmas
Doll
By Nancy Julien Kopp
“This was my mommy’s
doll,” Jordan tells me.
I pick up the doll, smooth the flower-print flannel gown she
wears. “A long time ago, she belonged to me.” I give Katherine a little hug and
place her on the window seat again.
Jordan grasps my hand. “I know that, Grandma. Will you tell
me about her?”
I scoop Jordan
into my arms. “Time for bed now, but maybe tomorrow we’ll talk about
Katherine.” I tuck her into bed and kiss her twice.
Later that evening, I sip a cup of tea and think about the
doll Santa brought me more than sixty years ago. The decades slip away like
quicksilver, and I am six years old again. My parents and little brother are
asleep, still snuggled under warm comforters, but I’m tip-toeing down the
hallway early on Christmas morning. It’s so quiet and very dark in the hallway,
but I know my destination and continue on.
When I reach the living room, the early morning light
filters through the windows. I kneel in front of the decorated Christmas tree,
and a little shiver runs up my spine. It’s cold in our apartment, but the
shiver comes from what I spy next to the gaily wrapped packages. Santa left me
a beautiful doll looking very much like Shirley Temple. She’s dressed in a bridal
gown made of a snowy, gossamer material. Tiny satin rosettes run from waist to
hem, and lace adorns the neckline and sleeves. The matching veil, trimmed in
lace, surrounds her head like a billowy cloud. A white nightgown and soft blue
robe lie beside her. It’s the kind seen only in the movies. So pretty! Her dark
blonde hair curls to perfection, and her eyes appear to glow. I inch as close as
I dare, for I know I should not touch her yet, not until Mommy and Daddy wake
up. For now, the anticipation of holding her seems to be enough. I name her
Katherine while I wait for my family to wake up.
Years later, I learned that my mother had made the bridal
gown and night clothes for the doll in the late hours on December nights. My
grandmother was the one who took
hair she’d saved from my mother’s first haircut to a
specialty shop where they created a wig for my doll. Hearts and hands joined in
this special gift.
I played with Katherine for many years, then saved her in
hopes I might pass my special doll to a daughter someday. My daughter, Karen,
loved the doll too, even though she no longer had the original clothes. Once
again, Katherine made a little girl happy. Karen secreted the doll away in
hopes that she, too, could pass her on to her own child someday. Now, Karen’s
daughter, Jordan, is the keeper of the doll. Though a bit tattered, Katherine’s
smile is just as sweet, and her blue eyes still appear to shine. Even her
wilted curls are precious to me and to Karen.
I think one day Jordan will feel the same, for she
is our special family doll and always will be. I will tell my granddaughter
about the Christmas I found Katherine under the tree, and later, when she’s
older, I will relate the part of the story about Jordan ’s great-grandmother who made
special clothes for Katherine, and about her great-great grandmother who saved
her child’s hair to make into a wig for a doll.
This one cherished doll holds five generations of my family
within her heart. Two created her, three have played with her, and all have
loved her. I hope Jordan
will have a daughter one day so that this chain of love might continue.
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