A Love Story

For the Love of dolls---and Love

This had to have taken  place in the 60s….I was between 6-8 yrs. old.

I had the two Flintstone dolls, Pebbles and Bambam…..among a plethora of other dolls but these two had taken center stage at this time.

One Sunday I decided to take the dolls to church with me.  When we started to walk into the church (always as a family, back then) my mother turned and said surely you don’t plan to take those in????  Put them back in the car!

She and the family promptly went in to the church.

I went to the parking lot which was full by now.  I put the dolls in our car and went into church.

When the services were over and we came out to go home, I started to panic.  Why were we getting into the station wagon?  Didn’t we take my father’s VW Bug to church?

Somehow I was able to communicate to my mother that I had placed my dolls----my babies!!----in the VW.  She kept saying “but we came in the station wagon”…..by the time we drove the 4 miles home I was in hysterics.  My dolls were gone, kidnapped by some foreign VW Bug!

I couldn’t be consoled; I must have cried myself to sleep, because the next morning I awoke with my dolls in my arms.  How on EARTH???

I discovered my dad had decided to look into matters and found that the church friends who owned the VW had left for Wisconsin immediately following the church services for a summer vacation camp (we lived near Chicago)….so he drove the three hours to the camp to retrieve the dolls, then the three hours home.  Dolls placed under my arms; done.

Some of my siblings told me for years that he did that because he was sick of hearing me rant on and on about my missing dolls.  (I think the family would have returned home in a week’s time.)

Two years before my dad died----which would be over 45 years after the doll incident-----I mentioned how grateful I was that he retrieved the dolls for me. (I had mentioned this numerous times throughout the years.) This time  I added, “Of course, the kids say it was because you were sick of hearing me cry on and on about it.”

The look on his face haunts me still.  He looked like he’d been unsuspectingly punched in the stomach….he sucked in his breath and said,

“No...I went and got them because I love you.”

I no longer have the dolls; but this picture is seared into my brain and I hope it remains clear until I go to the grave.