All Dolled Up - Part I
By Missy Crystal

Jamie wants his mother to buy him a doll for a birthday present. She does and a journey of discovery begins for both of them.

My son James, I call him Jamie, got a gift certificate to the local mall toy store from his Aunt Karen for his sixth birthday, which was in July. July 5th to be exact. From the time he was a baby, we took him to the town fireworks and told him they were for him. At least we did until my husband Jim, he was James too and our son was James, Junior, so we called his dad Jim and him Jamie for short, died two years ago. He was a technician for an environmental control company and maintained the emissions monitoring equipment they installed at power plants all over the country. They discovered him at the bottom of one of the stacks. The OSHA investigation found that the access ladder lacked a safety cage. We got a very sizeable settlement from the utility company. It paid off the mortgage and meant that I didn't have to work, but it was still a struggle raising a little boy without a father. It was hard on Jamie too.

On the Saturday after Jamie's birthday, I drove us to the mall, so that he could pick out a toy. We went into the store and walked up and down the aisles. I followed along behind him as he went past shelves of police cars, fire engines, bulldozers, trains, planes, games of all descriptions, building sets, and then he turned the corner and was in the girls' section, with an array of dolls and accessories. I expected him to go back to the boy's toys, but instead he stopped in front of a very pretty doll, about a foot tall, in a pink party dress. I watched and waited as he took it off the shelf and examined it.

Turning to me he asked, "Mommy, can I have this one?"

I was taken by surprise at his picking out a doll and it took a few seconds for me to answer him.

"No, Honey, dolls are for girls," I told him.

"Why are dolls for girls?" he asked me naively.

"Because girls play with dolls to practice for when they're mommies." I explained as simply as I could to a six year old.

"Oh," he said, looking down at the doll and then up at me. "If I play with a doll, will I be a mommy?" he asked with a child's confused logic.

"No, Jamie," I told him patiently. "Only girls can be mommies. Boys grow up to be daddies."

"Why can't boy's be mommies?" he persisted.

I knelt down to talk with him.

"In order to be a mommy, you have to have a baby. Only girls can have babies."

"Why?" he asked me.

I really did not want to get into an explanation of female reproductive anatomy with a six year old in the middle of a toy store.

"Jamie," I tried to simplify, "girls and boys are, well, they're bodies are different. It's the way they're born, Sweetie. Now, why don't you put the doll back and we'll go find a different toy. Then we can go get an ice cream cone," I offered as encouragement.

He continued to hold the doll and looked disappointed.

"Do I have to?" he asked.

I didn't want to upset him. He had enough trauma in his young life. Maybe having a doll was his way of finding comfort, an understanding companion with whom he could share his feelings. Jamie's aunt, my sister Karen, the one who gave him the gift certificate that started all this, was a psychologist. I remembered when she was in graduate school she had an internship with the one of the social service agencies counseling abused children and that she told me how they used dolls to get the children to act out painful memories.

"Jamie, why do you want a doll?"

He shrugged.

"I don't know."

If it was some type of a need for an emotional outlet, I supposed he wouldn't be able to explain it. The more I thought about it, the more I couldn't come up with a good reason not to let him have it. I mean, besides the usual stereotype. I decided to change my approach.

"Jamie, if I bought you the doll, would you play with her?"

I intentionally used the feminine pronoun to emphasize that he was buying a girl doll.

"Yes," he replied looking up at me hopefully.

"Honey, people might not understand why a boy would play with a doll," I cautioned him. "They might make fun of you. If I buy you the doll, you have to promise to keep it a secret. Not to tell anyone. You'll have to keep it in my room, so, if you have any friends over, they won't see it. Is that okay?"

I was hoping that he would decide he didn't want to go through all of that, just to play with a doll, but to my surprise he agreed.

"All right then, Sweetie, lets see if I can find one that's boxed."

I reached out and he handed me the doll. I stood up and looked on the shelf where she came from. There was a box with a plastic cover holding an identical doll. I took it down and showed it to him. Jamie nodded his approval. I put the doll back on the shelf. He reached up to take the box, but I shook my head.

"I'll hold it, Honey," not wanting anyone to question why a boy had a doll. I suppose it could have been a present for one of his cousins. Karen had two girls, and the older one, Debbie, was Jamie's age. We got married at the same time, a double wedding, which saved Dad a lot of money, and we had our first baby within a month of each other. Jim got a promotion to Senior Technician right after Jamie was born, which meant more money, which we could use, but it also meant he would have to do more traveling. We held off having another baby, while Karen didn't, so Amy, her youngest child, was four and a half. Even so, I preferred not having to explain, if we ran into someone I knew.

As we walked to the sales counter, I rehearsed to myself, "Oh, hello, Sarah. I'm well thank you. Hi, Susie. Jamie, say hello to Mrs. Kraft and Susie. Shopping for a birthday present. Us too. Oh, yes, it is a pretty doll, Susie. You have a pretty doll too? I'm sure. It's a present for one of my nieces. Yes, nice seeing you too Sarah. Bye. Bye Susie." No need for that.

When we reached the register, I handed the box to the salesgirl. It rang up at $29.95, $31.45 with tax. I was so surprised by Jamie's choice of the doll that I hadn't even looked at the price. His gift certificate was for $25.00. My sister and I didn't believe in giving each other's kids expensive gifts. I had already told Jamie he could have the doll as his present and I didn't want to go back on what I said, so I took out my credit card and paid the difference. Not that it was the money. We could afford it. It just seemed wasteful to spend that much on a toy he would probably not play with once he got it home. At least I couldn't picture him playing with it. Not that a boy couldn't play with a doll, but girls grow up with them. Oh well, I thought to myself, I can keep the box and return it.

The salesgirl handed me the credit card slip. I signed it and she put the doll in a plastic bag.

"Do you want the receipt in the bag?" she asked.

"No, thank you." I told her, wanting to make sure that it didn't get lost, so I could take it back. "Oh, and this is a gift," I added for insurance. What is your return policy?"

"Ten days, with the receipt for a full cash or charge refund. Otherwise only a store credit. But I can give you a gift receipt that makes it thirty days," she informed me.

"Yes, please."

She ran up another receipt and handed it to me.

"Thank you," I said, putting it in my wallet with the original receipt.

"You're welcome."

I held the bag in my left hand and reached down to Jamie with my right. He took my hand and we left the store. Walking through the mall, we passed an ice cream stand and I remembered that I had offered to buy him a cone. I stopped and he asked for his favorite, vanilla ice cream with rainbow sprinkles. I had them put it upside down in a cup, so he could eat it with a spoon. I ordered a small dish of maple walnut for myself. We sat at one of the little tables. Watching him, I wondered if maybe I was being too fussy. So what if he got messy. I remembered Jim digging into a juicy burger smothered in ketchup, his favorite when we went out, and always having to remind him to use his napkin. Jamie spent a lot of time around me. Maybe he was getting the wrong message?

We finished our ice cream and walked back to the car. I put the bag with the doll in the back seat and buckled Jamie in. When we got home, I brought the bag into the kitchen and took out the box. Jamie reached for it, but I stopped him.

"Hold on, Honey. The doll has to be taken out of the box carefully," I cautioned him. And I don't want you to mess up the packaging, so I can take it back when you're through with it, I thought to myself.

The clear plastic top was held on by tape. I used my nail to peel it off the plastic, leaving it still attacked to the cardboard box. I had not looked at the doll carefully in the store and now I saw that it came with accessories, a small pink pocket book with a white plastic handle, a pink plastic headband with three white flowers, a pink plastic hairbrush, with a flower decal, a matching mirror and a comb. The doll was fastened to the cardboard liner with plastic ties a round her neck and waist. I lifted the liner out and turned it over, using a scissors to carefully cut the plastic, releasing the doll. The accessories were basted onto the cardboard with white thread, which I also cut. I picked up the doll, put on her headband and handed her to Jamie. He took her and held her by the arm, the way a child would dangle a stuffed animal.

"No, Jamie," I explained patiently. "The doll is fragile and you have to be gentle with her. Here," I took the doll and cradled it in my left arm, holding it securely with my right hand resting on its tummy. "See."

I handed the doll back to him. He copied me and looked up for my approval. I nodded and smiled at him, although I felt funny teaching my son how to hold a doll. Then again, Jim came to birthing class with me and he had to be shown how to hold the baby after it was born, so there was no harm in starting early, was there? Jamie started to leave and I called after him to wait. He stopped and I brought him the accessories. He was using both hands to hold the doll, so I tucked the purse into his right pants pocket and the comb, brush and mirror into his left one. He hurried upstairs.

I followed him to the stairs and called after him, "Jamie, remember, play with the doll in my room, please." That way I could be sure it wouldn't get left in his room by accident, if he had a friend over, and it was also less likely to get dirty, if it wasn't around his other toys, so I wouldn't have a problem returning it. He disappeared at the top of the stairs.

I went back to the kitchen, carefully saved all the packaging materials and put the box on the top shelf of the hall coat closet, remembering with a twinge of sadness that was where Jim and I always hid Jamie's birthday and Christmas presents. Passing by the front door, I noticed that the mail had been delivered through the slot and picked it up from the floor. The usual supermarket circulars, a gas bill, and a fall department store catalog. That reminded me it was almost time for Jamie to start kindergarten and I need to take him shopping for some school clothes. Maybe next weekend, I thought, hoping that by then he would be done with the doll too and I could return it.

I took the mail into the kitchen and put a cup of water with a chamomile teabag into the microwave. When it was ready, I sat down at the counter and sipped the tea while browsing through the catalog. The first section was women's clothes. Plaids were back. So were long skirts and boots. I hadn't updated my wardrobe for years. Since Jim died, most of my time was spent with Jamie. Now that he was starting school, I would have more free time, but nothing to do. Since I had my LPN certificate, I suppose I could volunteer at the hospital. Even so, I didn't need any clothes. Lingerie was next. I skipped over that with a sigh. Then came cosmetics and perfume. None of that interested me. The drugstore's brands were good enough. Girls' school clothes followed. Pretty wool jumpers and kilts in bright plaids were featured, silky polyester blouses in coordinating powder blue, yellow, green and pink, red and blue nylon tights, pretty undies, and shoes with ankle straps and little heels. Finally, two pages of boys clothes. Tan cotton pants and corduroys in dark colors, blue, green and brown, plaid cotton flannel shirts, plaid was definitely in with a vengeance, sneakers with Velcro fasteners and shoes with laces. The same things Jamie always wore. He hadn't grown much over the summer, so everything still fit him, but a boy should have new school clothes.

Looking at the clock, I was surprised it had been almost an hour since we got home. I decided to check on Jamie. I rinsed out my teacup and put it in the dishwasher, then went upstairs. There were three bedrooms on the second floor. Ours, well, mine now, was front to back on the right and Jamie's was the front left. I peeked in his first, but he wasn't there. I went to the doorway to our bedroom and saw him sitting on the bed. He was holding the doll and speaking softly, but I couldn't hear what he was saying. I wish I could have known whether he was pouring his heart out or just talking make believe, but I didn't want to disturb him. He didn't see me and I quietly stepped back and went downstairs.

In one sense, I was disappointed. I had hoped that Jamie's lack of experience playing with dolls would frustrate him and that he would return to his familiar boy's toys. Then again, he seemed happy, which was what I wanted for him more than anything. All I could do was wait and see how it worked out. I should call Karen and get some professional advice, I thought.

When I got back to the kitchen, I looked at the clock on the microwave. It as half-past four, time to start getting dinner ready. Karen was probably busy with her family too and I wanted to wait until Jamie was in bed, so that I could talk to her without him overhearing. Little pitchers have big ears, Mother used to say, when she wanted Daddy not to talk while we were around. I took out a package of macaroni and cheese, Jamie's favorite, and put a pot of water on the stove to boil. About a half hour later, it was ready.

"Jamie," I called up to him, "dinner's ready. Please wash up and come down."

I went back into the kitchen and finished putting our dinner on the table. As I was pouring him a glass of milk, I saw him come in out of the corner of my eye. He had the doll in his arms.

"Jamie, we don't bring toys to the table," I reminded him.

I walked over and held out my hand to take the doll.

"Sit down, Honey. I'll put the doll on the stairs. You can play with her after dinner."

He handed her to me. I put the doll on the bottom step and went back to the table.

"Well, Jamie," I said, making small talk, "have you thought of a name for your doll?"

Of all things, I don't know why that came out. The last thing I wanted to do was encourage him to become more attached to the doll.

He shook his head and took a forkful of macaroni and cheese.

"Do dolls have names?" he asked.

Of course, girls gave their dolls names, but he wouldn't know that. Now that I had said it, I couldn't very well tell him no.

"Yes. When I was a girl, I had a doll named Cricket. I didn't give her that name. There was a storybook about a girl named Cricket that came with her. Your Aunt Karen had a doll she named Cindy Lou, after the little girl in the Dr. Seuss book about the Grinch. You remember her, the littlest Who? She is nice to the Grinch and saves Christmas for Whoville."

Jamie smiled and nodded, taking another forkful of macaroni and a drink of milk.

"Jamie," he said.

"That's your name, yes, Honey," I agreed.

"No, mommy, the doll's name is Jamie," he corrected me.

"You and the doll have the same name," I questioned him.

'Uh huh," he confirmed.

"Wouldn't you like to giver her a girls name?"

I tried to think of the girls in the Disney videos we watched.

"How about, Belle, the girl in 'Beauty and the Beast'?"

He shook his head.

"What about Jasmine, the Princess in Aladdin. That's a very pretty name girl's name and it kind of sounds like Jamie. Would you like to name her Jasmine?"

He shook his head and took another forkful of macaroni.

I was at a loss. Why did he want to give the doll his name? If he was telling her his troubles, maybe he identified with her. Just because it was a girl to me, didn't mean it was a girl to a six year old boy. Maybe it was just friend whose sex didn't matter. Or, I continued to consider, his father's name was James and we named him James too, so, he might think that a child is named after his father.

"You know, if your name is Jamie and the doll's name is Jamie, it might be confusing. How about if we call you Jamie and we call the doll Jamie Girl?" I suggested.

The distinction didn't seem to make a difference to him, which made me think that maybe my first explanation was right. He took another forkful of macaroni and shrugged.

We finished dinner and I cleared the table. Jamie got up to leave.

"Hold on, Sweetie. You didn't finish your milk. Do you want a cookie to go with it for desert?"

He shook his head and drank down the last of the glass. He looked up at me.

"Okay, Honey, you're excused. Oh, I called after him, I want to give you a bath in about half an hour. I'll let you know when its time."

Jamie scampered out. Through the doorway, I could see him pick up the doll and go upstairs. I finished cleaning up and putting the dishes in the dishwasher. Then I went into the den and turned on the TV to watch the six o'clock news. When it was over, I went upstairs and started to run a bath. I looked into my, bedroom to check on Jamie. He was sitting on the floor with the doll in his lap. I noticed that he wasn't playing house. I suppose he didn't have the right accessories. My sister and I had a play stove and kitchen items, even pretend food. Or dress-up, but then the doll didn't have a wardrobe. My sister and I had boxes full of doll clothes. Or school. That wouldn't require any props. Or even beauty parlor, since he had the comb and brush. Maybe I was right; that a little boy wouldn't know how to play with a doll and that he would be bored soon.

"Jamie," I said softly, so as not to startle him, "your bath is ready, Honey. Put the doll on my bed and go get undressed."

He did as I asked. I went into the bathroom to wait for him. A few minutes later he came in wearing just his white briefs and white socks.

"Okay, Honey, take off your underwear and hop in."

I checked the temperature of the water with my hand as I waited for him to finish undressing. Jamie got in and I took out some of his usual bath toys from the plastic bin we kept them in, a motor boat, a sail boat, a plastic whale and a rubber shark. I watched him play normally, which was a relief.

"I'll come back in fifteen minute," I told him.

I went into my room and picked up a woman's magazine. I thumbed through it, skipping over the articles on how to improve your sex life, natural cures for yeast infections after you improved your sex life, and looked for some recipes that might spice up, I laughed at my little pun, our meals. I mean there's only so much hamburger, pasta and pizza you can eat. Jim used to love a good steak or roast and we both enjoyed shrimp and scallops, not so much fish, but we had it occasionally for variety. Now I had no one to cook for. I looked over at the clock on my nightstand and it had been about twenty minutes. Jamie was probably getting waterlogged. I went into the bathroom and he was still playing with his bath toys. A good sign I reassured myself.

"Okay, Honey. I want to wash your hair."

I took a small plastic bucket I used for clean rinse water and the baby shampoo out from under the vanity. Jamie was a red-head, like his father, the McCarthy's Irish heritage, and it was wavy. He hadn't had a haircut in two months. I let it grow over the summer, figuring that I would give him a haircut before school. I filled the bucket with warm water from the tap and dumped it over his head. Then I lathered in the shampoo, rinsed, holding my hand over his eyes to keep the soapy water out, even though it was baby shampoo, and repeated. When I had finished, I soaped up a washcloth and handed it to him to wash himself. I supervised, making sure that he got his feet and under his arms. Then I took the washcloth, rinsed it out, re-soaped it and did his face and ears. When he was squeaky clean, I had him stand up and step out of the tub.

"Okay, Sweetie, scoot into your room and put on clean underpants and your PJ's," I directed him, once I had toweled him dry. "Then come back and brush your teeth."

After he left, I took his toys out of the tub and put them in the bin. Jamie returned wearing his light blue shorty animal print pajamas. I supervised him while he brushed his teeth, a full minute on the uppers, equal time on the lowers and a good rinse with kid's plaque removing mouth wash. I believe it's important to develop good oral hygiene habits early.

"Okay, Honey, scoot into your bedroom. I'll be there in a minute to read you a bedtime story."

The tub had drained by the time he was done, so I finished cleaning up the bathroom, using the towel to wipe down the tub and hanging it and the wet washcloth on the towel bar. I turned out the bathroom light and went into his bedroom. To my surprise, he had gotten the doll out of my room and was holding it, looking at me expectantly.

"Jamie, I told you, the doll has to stay in my room," I reminded him. "Besides, dolls aren't sleeping toys. They're not cuddly and her dress will get all wrinkled. If you want something to sleep with, I can get you one of your old stuffed animals."

He looked at me and shook his head.

"Look, Sweetie, I'll put the doll on the big chair in my room. She'll be very comfortable there," as if she were real, "and you can come get her as soon as you wake up, if you want to play wither her," which I hoped he wouldn't. "Okay?"

He shook his head.

"Why not?"

"Jamie wants to hear the story too."

It took me a few seconds to realize that the Jamie he was referring to was the doll.

"Oh, you want her to stay while I read to you?"

"Uh huh," he said with a smile.

I nodded my concession. Going over to the bookcase, I looked for one of the fairytales he enjoyed. We had a collection of the Disney versions and some of the Golden Book abridged stories too. I wanted to find one with a strong male character, hoping to offset at least some of the doll's effect. "Cinderella," no. "Sleeping Beauty," no. "Snow White," no. "Beauty and the Beast," no. "Rapunzel," no, the main character is a girl with long hair. Rumpelstiltskin, no, the title is about the dwarf, but the story is about the miller's daughter who outsmarts him and saves her baby. Was there a conspiracy among children's books authors only to write about girls? Finally, I came up with "Jack in the Beanstalk." Not that it was my favorite. I mean a homicidal kid who destroys a natural wonder in order to steal someone else's property is not my idea of a role model, but at least he was a boy. I brought the book over and got on the bed. Jamie put the doll on the pillow between us.

"Once upon a time, there was a poor widow who had an only son named Jack," I began. I continued through the story, showing Jamie the pictures of Jack trading their cow for the magic beans, and so forth. By the time I got to Jack going back the second time for the hen that laid the golden eggs, Jamie's eyes were closing and by the third trip for the singing harp, I could tell by his rhythmic breathing that he had fallen asleep. I picked up the doll, got up, turned out the light and left, keeping his door open just enough to let in a bit of the light from the hall.

I took the doll and brought it into my room, smoothing its dress, the way I used to do with Cricket, and sitting her on the upholstered chair next to the window. It was too early to call Karen and I had nothing else to do, so I got undressed, put on my nightgown, did my nightly beauty routine, old habits die hard, and got on the bed to watch TV. I went through the channels and found a dance program. Jim and I used to love to dance when he was home. Not ballroom. He thought that was for sissies. Rock and roll at one of the clubs when we were able to get a babysitter. I picked up my magazine and continued to go through it, looking up now and then to watch a bit of the show. I kept glancing at the clock and finally, at about eight thirty, I couldn't wait any longer. Karen would be done with dinner and Debbie probably went to bed around seven or seven thirty, like Jamie, so she should be free by now.

I pushed one on the speed dial. I called Karen more often than anyone else. The phone rang three times and she picked up.

"Hello," she answered.

"Hi, Sis."

"Ginny, hi. I was just thinking of you and Jamie. I took Debbie shopping for school clothes today and wondered if you were doing the same?"

"No, not yet. Girls are much higher maintenance than boys. As you might remember, Miss I-can't-go-to-school-in-old-clothes. All Jamie needs is a couple of pairs of pants, a few shirts and a pair of sneakers."

"Who, me?" she replied with a laugh. I thought that was you?"

"Me? I was the one who got your hand-me-downs, as if you don't remember. 'I just bought this for your sister last year and it's almost like new, Ginny dear,' Mom would always say. Good thing you have the boobs in the family though. At least I got to have my own bras. Not that I wouldn't rather have been a C than a B."

"So, is that why you called, to complain about your breast size?" Karen kidded me. "You know they do wonders with silicone, if you're still jealous."

"No, actually, there was another reason, Karen. I was hoping you could give me some advice. I'm worried about Jamie."

"Oh," Karen said with concern, "is he acting up? That's not unusual, Ginny, when a child has lost a parent. Maybe he could use some counseling. I can check around for a child therapist in your area. Maybe it would be good for both of you," she suggested.

"No, we're both fine. Well, you know, we're okay. The problem with Jamie isn't his behavior. He's a perfect angle. In fact, that's the problem, sort of."

"I'm sorry, Ginny, I don't get it. How can his not being a problem be a problem?"

I sighed.

"Let me start at the beginning."

Karen listened patiently.

"Today I took Jamie shopping. Just like you took Debbie," I added, "although it wasn't for clothes. We went to the toy store to use the gift certificate you gave him for his birthday." Karen kept quiet. "We'll, to make a long story short, he picked out a doll."

"You mean one of those action figures? I wouldn't worry about it, Ginny. Boys tend to be more aggressive in their fantasy play then girls. I'm not a big fan of war toys, but they promote them heavily on TV and the consensus is that they're harmless."

"No, Karen, not an action figure, a girl doll in a pink party dress, like Cindy Lou."

"A girl doll?" Karen questioned.

"Yes," I confirmed.

"I see." She paused and then asked me, "if you were concerned about the appropriateness of his picking out a doll, why didn't you tell him he couldn't have it?"

I sighed again.

"I did. Or at least I tried."

"What did you say to him?"

"I told him that dolls were for girls and suggested he find something else."

"And?"

"And he asked me why."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him that girls played with dolls to practice for when they became mommies."

"He didn't accept that?"

"He asked me whether he would be a mommy, if he got the doll."

I could hear an intake of breath as Karen stifled a laugh at the humorous question."

"What did you tell him?"

"I said that only girls could be mommies. Boys grow up to be daddies."

"Go on."

"He asked me why. I told him that boys' and girls' bodies were different. That's about as far as it went. I encouraged him to find another toy, even tried to entice him back into the boy's toy aisle with an offer of ice cream, but he really wanted the doll." I paused and then continued. "Karen, I just couldn't think of a good reason not to let him have it and I didn't want to tell him no without a good reason. He's been though a lot and I thought, well, maybe he needed a companion. There's just the two of us. I mean, kids have imaginary friends. Maybe he was being more realistic. Or maybe it was just one of those childish whims and he would get tired of it quickly. What do boys know about playing with dolls? I saved the packaging, so I can return it."

"Has he gotten tired of it, Ginny?"

"No, not yet, but it's only been a day."

"If you think that he will give it up, why are you concerned?"

"I'm not concerned. I'm, well, I'm just curious. I was hoping you could give me some help on how to deal with the situation."

"Ginny, curious means looking something up in Dr. Spock's book; concerned means calling your sister and asking her for advice about your son's behavior. The first step to solving a problem is admitting you have one. That is what I tell my patients. Having said that, I have to tell you, it is not considered good practice to counsel your family. You can't have the necessary professional detachment and, if something turns out badly, and psychology is not an exact science, you can damage your relationship with someone you care about."

"It's okay, Karen, I understand. You can't help me. I'm sorry I asked."

"Ginny, no, I didn't say I couldn't help you. I said I couldn't counsel you. The difference is between providing general advice and getting myself personally involved. Let's start with identifying what is really bothering you and then we can look at how to deal with it. Okay, Sis?"

"Okay, Karen."

"All right, then. I assume your basic question is whether it is harmful for a boy to play with a girl's toy. The short answer is no. Toys aren't gender specific. It's our society that makes the distinction. Think about it, Karen. If Jim were alive," she waited to see if she had touched a painful subject."

"Go ahead," I reassured her.

"Fathers are concerned about their sons being manly, much more so than mothers. Jim never would have allowed you to buy Jamie a doll. I'm sure Dave," that was Karen's husband, "would be equally opposed to it, if we had a boy, even with my assurance that it was harmless. You would have told Jamie that his father would not allow it, end of story. Without that masculine constraint, you had no excuse and the fact that Jamie's been through a lot made it even easier for you to give in."

"I'm relieved that I didn't do anything wrong. Thank you so much, Sis. I don't know what I would do without you?"

"Ginny, you never have to do without me. I'll always be here for you, but not so fast. Although there is no harm in a boy playing with a doll, children can be very cruel. His friends will not be as understanding as his mother and aunt. In that regard, you may not have done him a favor. I'm sorry, Ginny, but you asked and I have to give you the full answer."

"Well, I did tell him he only could play with the doll in my room, in case he has friends over, and I also told him not to talk about it either. Do you think that will prevent him from being teased?"

"Ginny, I told you, I can't give you personal advice. You have to make your own decision and live with it. So will Jamie. Is it more important for him to have the doll and whatever enjoyment it gives him or more important to protect him from being hurt, if he can't keep it a secret? You now him better than I do. You know how vulnerable he is and you know his needs. If you want to talk it over with someone, I can find you a therapist."

"No, not right now anyway. Like I said, it's only been a day. As long as having it isn't bad for him, I'll wait and see what happens. I'm still hoping he'll lose interest and I can return it. I remember that we had all sorts of doll's stuff and each other or our girlfriends to play with to make it fun."

"Okay, Ginny. Please call me in a couple of days and let me know what happens."

"I will, Karen, and thanks."

"No problem. Love you."

"Love you too. Bye."

I felt relieved as I hung up the phone. It was nine o'clock. I picked up a book I had started and read a few more chapters. At ten thirty, I put the book down. I decided to get up early and make Jamie his favorite breakfast, chocolate chip pancakes, hoping that his coming right down to breakfast would make him forget about the doll. Then I would take him to the park. He could use the wooden playground and feed the ducks in the pond. He liked that and it would get us out of the house. We could stop for a burger and fries on the way home. Maybe, I thought, he had been spending too much time around me. Jim would have taken him out in the backyard to play a sport. He was a big baseball and football fan, or even to a game. I played field hockey in high school, but they didn't have girls' sports teams when I was growing up. Do they have teams for six year olds? Soccer was popular. I should look into it. Jamie definitely needed to be around men and other boys more. Jamie usually woke up about seven, so I set the alarm for six thirty. I got up to look in on him, then got into bed and turned out the light.

The alarm went off and I got up, put on a robe and went down to start breakfast. On my way, I checked on Jamie. He was asleep and the doll was next to him. He must have come into my bedroom during the night. Children, at last six year olds, have no sense of time. He probably got up thinking that it was morning and then fell asleep playing with it. I decided not to take the doll away from him. I didn't want him to wake up and worry about what happened to it. Well, so much for the diversion of chocolate chip pancakes. Even so, I might as well make them, since I was already up. I could still follow my plan to get him out of the house and away from the doll for the day. Since I no longer had to have breakfast ready before he woke up, I went back to my room, washed up, put on some makeup, tied my hair back with a scrunchy, and went down to the kitchen. I mixed up the batter, but waited to make the pancakes, until Jamie came down. I expected that he would sleep late. Who knew when he got up or how long he played before his wee hour excursion caught up with him.

At about a quarter of nine I head him moving around upstairs and a few minutes later he appeared in the kitchen. He had the doll with him.

"Jamie," I chided him, "I told you before, we don't bring toys to the table. And," I added," you should not have taken the doll out of my room without asking me."

"You were sleeping, Mommy," he explained.

"I was sleeping because it was nighttime and you should have been sleeping too. Not wandering around the house and not playing with your toys. It was dark when you woke up, wasn't it. That's nighttime. If you need something, you can call me and I'll come, but you need to stay in bed. It's not safe for you to be walking around the house when I'm not up and I don't want you taking things out of my room without asking me. Okay?"

"Uh huh," he agreed sheepishly.

"Good. Now, here's the story. I made you chocolate chip pancakes. Sit down and have your breakfast. I'll put the doll on the stairs. After breakfast, you can get dressed and we'll go to the park. Then we can get a burger for lunch. How does that sound?"

Jamie nodded his approval and then he asked, "can Jamie come too?"

I sighed with exasperation.

"No, you need to leave your doll at home. I told you about not letting anyone know you had her. Remember. It is important," I emphasized. "Some of the other boys and girls might not understand. Jamie, if you can't keep it a secret, then I will have to take the doll back," I warned him.

"No, Mommy, please," he said excitedly. "Please don't take Jamie back. I'll won't tell. Honest. Please, Mommy, please?"

"I didn't say I was going to take her back, Honey," I relented. "I only wanted to be sure you understood that you can't tell anyone about her. If you do, I will have to take her away, but not otherwise. Okay?"

"Okay," he conceded.

"Okay," I agreed. "Eat up and then we'll get ready to go out. It will be a fun day." Especially for me, if I don't have to deal with the doll, I added to myself.

After breakfast, we went upstairs. Jamie washed up and brushed his teeth. I combed his hair. He really did need a haircut. I had him change his underpants and picked out a light blue cotton t-shirt and dark blue shorts with an elastic waist. White cotton socks and a pair of sneakers completed his outfit.

We got in the car and drove to the park. It was a beautiful, sunny summer day. I sent Jamie off to the playground while I sat on one of the benches and watched. He seemed to be enjoying himself and I was happy to see that he was playing normally with the other kids. After an hour or so, I called him back and we went over to the duck pond. Lunch was a kids' meal with a plastic figure of a pirate. Jamie looked at the toy and put it back in the bag.

It was three thirty when we got home. I had put the doll back on the upholstered chair in my room and hoped that Jamie would go back to his regular toys, but no. As soon as we got in the house, he went upstairs and I could see him turn right, into my bedroom.

Jamie needed back to school clothes, but I had put off our shopping trip, hoping to be able to return the doll when we went. Since it did not seem like that was going to happen any time soon, the next day I took Jamie back to the mall. We went into the department store. It was set up so that you had to go through the girls' 4-6X section to get to the boys' side. As we passed through, Jamie stopped.

"Come on, Honey, these are girls' clothes. The boys' clothes are over there," I told him, taking his hand and starting to walk.

He resisted and I stopped. I turned and saw that he was looking at a pink taffeta party dress with a full skirt and white sash tied in a bow around the little girl manikin's waist. The dress looked similar to the one his doll wore.

"Oh, yes, Honey, that dress does look like the one on your doll. It's very pretty. Now let's go, we have to buy you clothes for school."

"Can I have that?"

It took me a couple of seconds to realize what the 'that' was that he was talking about.

"You mean the dress?"

"Uh huh."

"No, Jamie, absolutely not. Boys don't wear dresses. They're for girls when they want to look pretty."

"Please, Mommy," he asked nicely.

I knelt down, so that I was at his level when I spoke to him.

"Jamie, you can't have a dress. Only girls wear dresses."

"Why?"

The same question as he asked about the doll.

"Because girls wear different clothes than boys, that's why," I explained patiently.

"Girls wear pants and shirts like me."

"Girls wear pants and shirts in different colors and designs than boys." Looking at the dress, I pointed out, "see, its pink. That's a girl's color and the dress has lace around the neck, sleeves and hem. Lace is especially for girls too."

Jamie gave me a puzzled look.

"You wear the same clothes as me."

I had on a pair of jeans and a white, jewel neckline short sleeved cotton top that looked similar to a t-shirt. This was not going as well as I would have liked.

"Jamie, my clothes may look like yours, but they're designed differently for a woman."

Not that women didn't or at least couldn't wear men's clothes. Growing up, Karen and I would borrow our Dad's shirts for beach cover ups, although we left them open and knotted the tails, and Mom bought us boy's boxers to sleep in. This wasn't the time for debating the double standard.

"Jamie wears a dress."

That took me by surprise. No he doesn’t. Then I realized he was talking about Jamie, his doll. That would make it easier, since she was a girl.

"You doll is a girl, Jamie. That's why she is wearing a dress."

"No."

"No, what?"

"Jamie's not a girl. She's like me."

This was getting out of hand. How could I argue with a six year old about his doll's gender. He was too young to understand the physical differences between men and women and the doll wasn't anatomically correct anyway. I needed to put an end to his confusion once and for all.

"Jamie, I am not going to argue with you. Boys wear boy's clothes and girls wear girl's clothes. This is the Girl's Department. We need to shop in the Boy's Department, because you are a boy. Now I don't want to hear any more about you wanting a dress."

I stood up and took his hand.

"Let's go, please."

Jamie was carried along by my momentum as I started to walk and, after a few seconds of resistance while he got his balance, began to follow along. When we got to the Boy's Department, I made a show of picking out pants and shirts, asking him his opinion as to color and style. He was agreeable, but unenthusiastic. After buying two pairs of corduroys, a pair of chinos, two pairs of jeans, an assortment of shirts and a dark blue and dark green long-sleeved knit pullover, we were done. He had plenty of underwear and socks, but I wanted him to have another pair of sneakers. I also wanted to avoid going back through the girls' clothes. Unfortunately, children's shoes was a single department and there were a lot of girls' styles on display. I watched Jamie as his eyes went to a pair of black patent leather Mary Jane's, similar to the one on his doll. I shook my head, regretting my decision to buy it for him, regardless of Karen's assurance. I kept hold of his hand and quickly went to the boy's sneakers. I had Jamie sit down on a stool while the salesclerk fitted him to a very expensive pair of Nike's. They were black, with a high tech sole for kiddy athletes, which I hoped would make him feel more masculine. I added the shoe box to the three bags of clothes.

On the way out, Jamie stopped and looked at me.

"Mommy, please."

"No."

We left the mall and drove home. As I was driving, I debated taking the doll away from him, but my being an Indian-giver wasn't the solution. It would just upset him. Was there another way to handle this? Karen had said that it wasn't the toy, but our prejudices that determined who could play with it. Could it be the same with clothes? Was I being too conventional? What was it about dresses that limited them to being worn by females? What if I bought him the dress, I wondered? It definitely would make him happy. Just like the doll, I could have him wear it around the house and keep it in my closet. Nobody would know. Just a special secret shared between the two of us. Besides, I rationalized, he has plenty of boy's clothes and once he starts school, once he gets involved with other boys, maybe I even get him on a team, he will forget all about the doll and the dress. Maybe I should run this by Karen. Then again, whether I should let Jamie wear a dress is well beyond general advice and she said she couldn't counsel me. That means our going to a stranger and having to spend months talking about my most intimate feelings. No thank you.

"Jamie," I called up to him, "come down here for a second, please."

About a minute later he appeared.

"I've been thinking, Honey. Are you really serious about wanting that dress you saw at the mall? If I bought it for you," I added without giving him time to respond, "would you really wear it?"

"Uh huh," Jamie said nodding his head and smiling. "Uh huh," he repeated.

"Jamie, if," and I emphasized 'if,' I did buy it for you, you would have to promise me, 'promise me,' I emphasized, cross your heart, Sweetie, that you would never ever, I emphasized 'never' and ever' tell anybody about it. Jamie," I said very seriously, "people would not understand why a boy wore a dress and it would be a big, big, I emphasized both 'bigs,' problem.

"I will Mommy, I promise," he quickly agreed, making an X over his heart.

"I need to think about it some more. I'll tell you what. Let me put one of my t-shirts on you. I have some pretty ones. They're long enough to feel like a dress. Why don't you see if you like it before we buy one for you. Okay?"

Jamie shook his head enthusiastically.

"Come with me."

We went into my bedroom and I looked through my dresser. There was a light yellow ribbed cotton tank top that had gotten in with some of the towels and went through the hot wash cycle and into the dryer on high. It had shrunk up to child's size and would be just right for Jamie to try. I took it out and held it up against him. It was perfect.

"Let's take off your clothes and try this on."

When he was down to his underpants, I slipped the tank top over his head and adjusted the wide straps to sit on his shoulders. I tugged on the bottom to stretch it out, which brought it down to about his mid-thigh and made it fit tighter. I couldn't resist and used my brush to fluff up his hair into a more feminine style. I was tempted to part it in the middle and make bangs, but that would be going too far. Even so, he could have passed for a little girl.

"Well, Jamie, do you like your dress?"

To my surprise, he wasn't enthusiastic.

"It's okay."

"What's wrong with it?"

"I don't know."

"Come over her and look in the mirror."

I brought him over to my full length mirror on the back of the closet door.

"Look at yourself. Turn around," I directed. "Hold out the bottom of the skirt a little. Do you like it or not?"

"I don't look like Jamie."

"You mean your doll?"

"Uh huh."

"Jamie, mothers and daughters," I didn't know how else to put it, "don't always wear the same clothes. Sometimes they have matching outfits, for special times, like a birthday, but otherwise they wear different things. You didn't wear the same clothes your father wore and you wouldn't wear the same clothes that I wear, if you were my daughter."

I have no idea why I made that comparison.

He thought about it for a minute, then turned back and admired himself in the mirror, holding out the hem of the dress again, the way I had showed him. He nodded his head and looked up at me, which I took to mean his asking whether we were done.

"Go ahead, Jamie. You can play for a bit. Then I want to talk to you a little more, once you've had a chance to see how you feel about wearing a dress. Okay?"

When Jamie came downstairs, he left the doll on my bed and it was still there, after we finished putting him into his make-shift, I gave a little laugh at my pun, because that was what we had done, made him a shift dress. He went over, picked her up and, to my surprise, walked back to the mirror, cradling her in the crook of his arm, the way I had shown him, and modeling it for her, at least a boy's version of how a girl would preen in front of a mirror. He spent about five minutes turning this way and that, talking softly to the doll, holding her out to look at him and then went back to sit on the bed with her. I decided to give him his privacy and left. On the way out, I noticed that he had let his dress ride up and his underpants were showing. He would obviously need some instruction on skirt management, I thought to myself, which also got me to questioning whether I was serious about buying him a real dress. There was a lot more to being a girl than the clothes. Was I prepared to go that far with him? Then again, why even bother, if nobody was going to see him? Did he want to be a girl or just to look like his doll? Well, he was satisfied for now. I had time to give it some more thought.

TO BE CONTINUED