Memory Monday: The Continuing Saga of My Last Doll

My daughter and my last doll

THE CONTINUING SAGA OF MY LAST DOLL

I wrote a while back about the Tradition of the Last Doll in our family. I got her when I was in the 4^th grade and was told that she would be the last doll my parents would give me. I treasured her. By the way, I never named her. I just called her “my doll.”

When I had a daughter of my own, she played with the doll. The picture above was taken the weekend of my daughter’s 3^rd birthday. My parents had come from New Mexico and my mother had made matching dresses for my daughter and my doll. (Aren’t they so cute together?)

Last month was my granddaughter’s third birthday, so I got MY LAST DOLL from a top shelf in the garage. I even put the dresses (which I had saved) on my granddaughter and the doll. There was only one problem. My granddaughter is somewhat taller at three than my daughter was. The dress is too short for her to wear in public, but it will make a fine play dress—for the next few months—if she doesn’t grow too fast.

The doll’s index finger on her right hand is still in my jewelry box, but I noticed that the area around the next finger has cracked and the middle finger is close to coming off. I’ve already looked up a local doll repair expert so I can get her taken care of because my granddaughter really, really likes that doll. The other day, she pulled the doll over to the table where she was playing, gave the doll a hug, and bent her forward so she could “see” what my granddaughter was doing, talking to her the whole time.

So far the doll has lasted three generation. Let’s see if we can go for four or five. Wouldn’t that be amazing?