I remember how I felt when I found her on the top shelf of the closet in our guest bedroom. It was a wonderful sense of accomplishment immediately followed by overwhelming regret. It was the first and last time I was successful at snooping for hidden Christmas presents. Once I found her, I realized what a mistake I had made. I now had to keep my discovery a secret for the coming weeks, and would have to fake my excitement on Christmas morning when I opened what would be my “big” present that year. I never searched for hidden presents again.
I named her Debbie because of her resemblance to me, in the self-centered manner expected from an 8 year old. She was a high quality doll, the fanciest one I owned throughout my childhood. I outgrew her eventually, and she spent some years stored in the basement. I was 15 when my parents divorced and the contents of our house went different directions. I took with me a box of memorabilia from when I was a kid: my pencil collection, a dollar bill signed my a Washington Redskins player I once met, the leg brace I wore when I tore a few ligaments in my knee that was signed by my friends, and Debbie. Continue reading