A Doll for my Son: Easier said than done
Over the years, I have acquired quite the collection of dolls from all over the world – but they are not dolls for playing – with porcelain faces, hands, and feet. When Q was a baby, I put a few out on shelves his room.
He started noticing them a couple of weeks ago, pointing to the dolls and saying “Baby? Baby, please?” I would take them down and hold them while he stroked their faces and gave them gentle kisses. I knew it was time to get him his own baby to hug and to hold. I also knew that it would be easier said than done.
As I set out on my quest, I realized just how difficult a task it would be.
I had 2 criteria for his doll:
1. Not white
2. Gender-neutral (although I was willing to settle for a ‘boy’ doll)
Every store I went to had aisles of white dolls that boasted various features and fancy gimmicks. The few black dolls were all decked out in pink. The gender-neutral and ‘boy’ dolls I found were all white.
I went to 5 stores in 3 different cities with no luck and figured I had 2 options.
a: Go to the US and hope to find one there
b: Buy one off the Internet
Neither option worked for me. That I had would have to go to another country or order online (when I could pick a doll up at any Dollar Store for my white nieces) was absurd and abhorrent to me.
Sure, I could have gotten Q white doll, but my son deserves to have access to a “baby” that resembles him. It is important to me that his toys and books reflect a balance of racial representation that he will not see on TV, in school books, or (evidently) in his local toy store.
Q's Baby
In the end, this is what I got him. It barely meets either of my criteria (although it is darker than it looks in the pic), but he couldn’t wait. Every night, he was more desperate for a “baby.”
I know that the fact that I haven’t had to deal with (or even encounter) this until my 30s is evidence of the privilege that has been afforded me because of my racial identity. For my entire life, white privilege has given me access to dolls that resemble me (although ironically, most of the dolls in my collection are neither white nor ‘girls’).
When I brought the doll into the house and Q saw it, his face lit up! He gleefully screamed “Baby! Baby! Baby!” Q doesn’t know what colour his “baby” is or what that means, but I hope that this doll (and those to come) contribute in some way to his self-worth and sense of identity.
