When I was just a little girl, I used to go to my friend Shallyn's house and play every day. She was the only girl of three children. Her father managed at a car dealership (which explained her first car at 11) and her mother always wanted a daughter. I am not in any place to judge, but in my opinion she was damn spoiled. Her room was the color she wanted (including carpet and decor). Her closet was overflowing. And she barely had to lift a finger. It was a far cry from the youngest girl of 6 with two minimum waged parents and a rented, three bedroom house.
We usually played at her house, obviously. She had a pool, a finished basement but more importantly, A BARBIE DREAMHOUSE. It was not one of those cheap ones. It was the real thing. Her dreamhouse had an elevator, balconies, even the really cool cardboard backing with the ocean painted on in the background. Even though she never let me play with the "good Barbies", or didn't so much let me live in the actual dreamhouse as behind the recliner in the corner, I still played with her every single day or as much as she allowed. I took the abuse when she had another friend over. I waited outside patiently while she had lunch, or on the patio when she said I wasn't allowed in the pool while she swam.
I wanted her life, I think. I actually admired/envied her. At home I made my own dreamhouse: The Meadowbrook Dreamhouse since it was made out of milk crates and shoeboxes. The fancy cardboard backing was paper towels and tissue paper. The beds were jewelry boxes (probably from Kmart) and my "Barbies" were the three for a dollar with hollow arms and legs. If ever we were at MY house, I'd always be sure to give her the best room and doll. She always insisted on making her own across my room because, put simply, she could do better.
When I was twelve years old, my parents moved me out to the country. I didn't speak to them for weeks. All I wanted was my old life back. I didn't understand why I needed new friends, a new house and why it took 45 minutes to get to Giant Eagle. At first, the only friends my brother and I had were each other. We scoured the neighborhood of more ponds than houses. We rode our bikes everywhere. But honestly, it didn't take long to make new friends. In my old town, when there was a new kid at school, the unwritten rule was you shunned them and made them earn your respect and friendship. You didn't even talk to them the first week. When I moved all urban, they passed countless notes to you the first hour wondering where you used to live, how many siblings you had and what you favorite ice cream cone flavor was. It was all new to me. It was a complete transformation. And when my old friend Shallyn had completely turned on me at my next birthday party where I introduced her to my new friends, I ended up sending her home even before I blew my candles out.
I've seen her out and about a few times in the last few years. After getting into drugs and many boys got into her, she had her daughter in high school and her son with her new boyfriend about 18 months ago. She bounced from her mother's to her father's house. I've seen her daughter once, when she was an infant. Since then, I never see her with her children. It doesn't matter if it's Walmart or the zoo.
I'm forever grateful to my parents that I got out when I did.
11 comments:
Hell yeah, Fairview was pretty snooty-falooty anyways (I just made that word up dude).
Remember the Princess Anne, and how we'd ride our bikes all over there with Dev and Senita? And when you pissed your pants?
That's awesome. And you waited until well into your 20's to have your out of wedlock baby. Go you!
On a semi-related (not really) note, I was contacted recently through my myspace page by someone who was a year ahead of me in highschool. She remembers me very well but I can't for the life of me remember her. Have you ever gotten this? It seems like so often I see people of hear from people I just don't remember.
I was spoiled w/ Barbie-bilia. I had the twonhouse (w/ elevator), Dreamhouse, cars, etc. but the difference was that I played Barbies w/ my friends. I was so happy to have someone come over to play. I'd be like "You want the purple car or the yellow car? You want the Good Ken? Here's the nicest wedding dress. Do you want a baby for your Barbie?" I guess it's just in how the personality is, not in what the toys are.
My friend Beth & I liked to make Barbie beds out of Kleenex boxes. Did you do that?
I enjoyed your story. And I can relate to the "getting out" part very much. Two very significant events from my childhood that shaped my life were moving out of the country to the city, and then moving back to the country. It seemed like in both instances, getting out was good for me, and gave me perspective I wouldn't have had otherwise.
As for Barbies, my favorite way to play with them was to pop their heads off, stick the heads on the ends of pencils, and then leave them in planters around the house.
That samn Barbie Dream House. I would have given my right arm for one. Hell, I even had the Garage Sale Barbie head that you put makeup on.
My Shallyn was named Missy and she had all the cool stuff that we were never allowed to play with.
I still want a Barbie Dream House.
Would help if I could spell before I pushed publish. I mean damn not samn.
I can relate to your dreams of a Barbie Dream House. I always wanted one of those fold-out kitchen things with cupboards that opened and a plastic sink.
I made my own houses out of shoeboxes.
Great post!
Gina, get jealous, I totally had the fake kitchen. The fact that it was made of olive green metal that was rusty and sharp and the cause of at least one tetnus shot should not lessen your jealousy.
I had the kitchen (but all I remember are the adorable plastic coffee mugs) AND the hot tub (with the push button action bubbles) and the shiny purple corvette. But my neighbor girl had the Dream House and her own boombox. I was never that lucky...
I was in my twenties before I had shoes that came in a box.
I used to play football by myself with a taped up Regan cheese box.
I saw a Barbie flushing toilet in the store when I was a wee lad, back in the 80's. I told my mother about it and we had a good laugh inventing Barbies who would use such a thing - Pooping Patty, Barfing Barbie, etc. Now nobody, my mother included, believes me when I tell them about it. So glad Carmen posted...I was starting to think I'd imagined it.
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