Barbie Envy
When I was a kid, there was one thing I really, really wanted.
A Barbie doll.
Not the Miss Revlon my parents got me. Not some knock off. I wanted the real thing. Barbie, with her misshapen feet and enormous boobs. But I never, ever got one. [Stop while I wipe away a tear] My parents were so, so terrible to me which is why I grew up to be a terrible, terrible person.
Or not.
I thought they were mean. I thought we were poor. I thought my father was the biggest racist EVER. And I thought the only thing I wanted was to move away. So, here I am, more than 40 years after graduating college, living 2 miles from where I grew up. And so much wiser.
Because I now know my parents weren’t mean. They were just being parents with 6 kids. And while we didn’t have much, I realize now what poor really is and we were nowhere near that. And Dad being a racist? By today’s standards? Not even close. By the norms of the 1970s? Not even then. Yes, he was prejudiced and said some bigoted things. But he treated all our friends the same – black, white, Puerto Rican.
When friends needed a place to stay, they came to our house. When T.V. was living on the street, he moved in and became our third brother – the black one. What racist would allow that?
No; my parents were far from terrible. All it took was being around real racists and bigots and haters to figure that out.
Tags: Barbie, growing up poor, parents, racism, racist
Only you could connect not having a Barbie to your dad possibly a being racist. Sounds kind of ridiculous.
So did you ever get your Barbie?
I wanted to BE Barbie as “that bitch had everything”.
Think about it.
xo
Hate my typos!
What I meant was “only you could connect not having a Barbie to your dad possibly being a racist”.
I remember being with your sister, your white brother and your black brother getting our picture taken in front of a welcome to Hazlet or you are entering Hazlet sign or something like that. Your black brother was wearing my girl coat. So funny
At least your feet aren’t misshapened!!