When my daughter Serena was a toddler she developed a fixation on
some dolls in the kindergarten at her big brother's school. If I had
been paying attention I would have noticed that the dolls she loved had
one feature in common, but in my naivete I endeavored to make her a
doll of her own. In skin and hair tones that matched hers.
She
hated the doll and let it drop, unwanted, to the floor after she
unwrapped it. The Waldorfy doll that had taken me hours to make and
that I was so proud to present to her, knowing how much she loved dolls.
The
problem? It didn't have the brown skin and black hair of the dolls she
loved. (The next year I bought her one with brown skin and black hair,
having learned my lesson, and she still loves it.)
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