Cathy and Mandy

posted by Stace

Ok, so I am a purger. Not with food or anything, but with "stuff". I don't like the idea of having things clutter up space. I get the heebie jeebies looking at our kitchen counters and there is a line of stuff all the way around the perimeter of the room. I don't think we "need" all the stuff that we have, and the idea of carting it around with us when we move bothers me, and then of course, I start to think about what happens to it all when I die... I can't take it with me - and that leads me to think about what I would take if I had to vacate the house quickly - what would be the most important? What could I not live without? And, the million dollar question is: with all the other clutter we have to sift through, would things be easily found and accessible? I somehow doubt it...

I have been going through my things - and letting things go. I have few things from my childhood, having given things away or selling them in garage sales over the years - and overall, I regret little. Kevin, who likes to keep everything and follows me around checking our wastepaper basksets as I "clean", has mentioned more than once how I have little to show for my childhood - in terms of stuff anyway. Overall, I took that as a compliment.

Now, let me tell you about my two childhood dolls, Cathy and Mandy, who have been living with me - in a box - for many years. Cathy is an African American ("black" back in the seventies) doll in the form of a real baby, with a shockingly amazing full head of black hair. I remember opening the gift of her on Christmas morning and being in love with her on sight. My sister, Amie, tells me now that prior to getting Cathy I had announced that I wanted a "black doll". I don't remember being so adamant about the racial background of the doll that I felt I needed, but apparently I had been. I carried her on my hip, took pictures of her when I travelled by myself to Iowa to visit my grandparents, and would stick her and Mandy in my red plastic trunk and cart them around the house on the weekends (don't worry, I won't do that with our kid). I will never, in my entire life, forget walking into the bedroom I used while in Iowa and noticing that Cathy had acquired a Crest toothpaste mustache put upon her by my grandfather who apparently had issue with the fact that my baby doll was black. Even today, in a tiny crevice between her nose and mouth you can still see mint green. Hate crimes leave indelible marks - even as a child I was distraught and disappointed that Cathy and I had been victimized.

Mandy joined us the following year and the 3 of us became a family of our own. Mandy, different from Cathy in every way, was Caucasian, with shoulder length taffy colored golden blond hair. I would wet her hair and wrap it up in cotton balls and the next day she would have a whole new look with curls. She had less of a baby doll look and took on the appearance of a small girl. Both were well outfitted and all the clothes kept in an ancient child's cloth suitcase.

Recently, I decided to part with the dolls. Yes, I decided to give them to Goodwill. Kevin thought me to be heartless, cruel and cold. But then, he thinks the same of me when I throw away store receipts. The dolls, along with the suitcase, and a bunch of other "stuff" sat in my car for the past week. Then on my way to Goodwill, I felt like I was taking my pet to the Humane Society as I had such a pit in my stomach. Up until this point, I had been fine with parting with the dolls, and hadn't really thought much of it. Now, as I drove up to the garage pull-in and stepped out of the car grabbing the bag with the dolls and suitcase in it, I felt sick. I gave the bag to the attendant who promptly threw the bag into a nearby bin. I heard the bag fall and handed him the rest of the goods - easy to let go. As the attendant got me a receipt, I walked to the bin and peered in at Cathy laying splayed out on top. I couldn't see Mandy at first. I took my receipt and drove out of the garage.

Teary, I didn't even get out of the parking lot. I drove to the nearest parking spot where I could still easily peer into the garage and immediately called Kev. He was flying. So, I called Rachel. She would tell me what to do. I explained to her what I had done, rationalized that the dolls were old and that it was the right decision, and clearly explained that I am being an absolute freak. I knew the right answer - I don't think I ever truly intended to actually leave the parking lot without the dolls in the back seat. Rachel directed wisely and within 5 minutes I was off the phone and driving. She said, "Go back and get them right now."

I pulled the dolls and the suitcase out of the bin and the attendant returned as I placed the dolls in the car. "I am sorry," I said, "I have to take the dolls." If he thought that I was a freak, he didn't say, and I didn't really care. I drove away and everything was very much right with the world.