Tuesday, December 8, 2009

Her name was Amosandra

Her name was Amosandra.
What Christmas present do you most remember? Mine? I remember a Christmas morning when I was surely no more than three. I walked down the enclosed stairway into what was then our dining room. In the corner of the room by the window was the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen. A small, grey canvas baby carriage just like the big ones was turned away concealing the contents. Peeking over the side of the baby buggy was a soft, yellow flannel blanket trimmed with blue.

The carriage was just the right height for this little girl. I remember it well. I held my breath as I looked inside. Amosandra was dressed in a flannel gown with matching cap made for her by my mother. She was the most beautiful baby I’d ever seen.

The little doll slept with me every day from that day forward. She traveled to Washington DC, visited my aunt in Michigan, comforted me when I was ill and resided in my room until dolls were replaced by other interests. Her name was Amosandra. I know because it was embossed at the back of her little head.

I don’t remember ever seeing her before that Christmas morning. I guess she was meant to be my baby. It wasn’t until I was grown that I realized my favorite doll’s mother was white.

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