“Knowing that Lucita was given to me by my mother had a strong meaning. As a child it made me feel loved to have this special toy. I decided what she wore, what I did with her, and who I would allow to play with her.”
The doll on display – Lucita – has been in Linda’s life since before she can remember.
I was four months old when Lucita came into my life. My mother had taken my brother and I to a general store. She noticed I had turned my head and stretched my arms as to reach for something. She believed I was reaching for the doll.
Linda’s mother purchased the doll for her daughter, even though she had little money to do so. Over time, Lucita would become Linda’s essential playmate.
I grew up in a rough neighborhood that did not allow me the freedom to play outside when I wanted to. I did not have many friends, anyway. The solitude that came from my circumstances led me to form a bond with my doll. I regarded her as a friend I could talk to about anything, who would not treat me unkindly or make fun of me.
Lucita’s appearance is not pristine. Linda remembers Lucia’s fated makeover.
With scissors in hand, I excitedly began to cut away her shiny golden hair. I was so happy to be able to transform her. I did not stop there. I took the nail polish bottle and thought to myself, ‘This would not be more difficult than using a paintbrush!’ After her fingernails, and most of her fingers, were painted, I figured she needed makeup. Crayons and pens were the only things available and I proceeded to color her face. I don’t know why, but also felt the need to draw on her forehead.
Once the transformation was complete, Linda began to worry what her mother would think and whether she would be punished.
I walked over to my mother and showed her what I had done. To my surprise, her only response was letting me know that Lucita was my doll and I could do with her what I liked. It made me happy that my mother had given me the chance to be creative. I spent the years following this honing my creativity alongside my mother while she taught me to sew, knit, and cook, among other things.
The skill of sewing came in handy when a neighbor’s dog got ahold of Lucita.
Through my tears I pleaded with my mom to help me rescue Lucita. I followed her out the back door to find Lucita’s stuffing all over the floor and one of her arms detached from her body. My heart sank. My mother comforted me and reassured me that she could be fixed. She explained that Lucita would have to have surgery. I ran inside to look for a needle and thread and I stitched Lucita up as best I could. Then I hugged my mother and thanked her for helping me.
Many of Linda’s memories of her doll are, in fact, connected to her mother, and specifically her mother’s unconditional love.
Over time Lucita has come to represent not only a part of my childhood, but also the love that my mother has for me. Today Lucita’s body is tattered and tired. The stitches are as visible as are the marks on her face. Her hair gives the appearance of that moment of frenzy with scissors. But sometimes you need an object to hold onto, a physical symbol to reaffirm what you already know, that you are unquestionably loved.