Toni, Toni

I probably did have others, in addition to a collection of “show dolls” wearing national costumes that Mother collected for me, but I only remember having three dolls. I was not deprived: I just generally did not like dolls (as well as clowns and masks). Paper dolls were an exception.
Those I liked.

From photos I have learned that my first doll was a military doll. A male doll in uniform, including a cap with visor and the gilded insignia of the coat of arms of the United States. It was 1944. This doll, and a photo of a man dressed in the same Army Air Corps uniform, were both named “Daddy”. The man himself was in Italy, piloting a B24.

The next doll, and one I remember first hand, was a Black baby doll. She wore a blue and white sleeper that covered her feet – what is now called a “onesie”. She had no hair, although there were wisps painted onto her scalp. Her name was Baby Doll. It never occurred to me that she and I represented different races. Baby Doll slept with me until I outgrew my crib.

My next doll was a gift on my sixth birthday. I had wanted this doll very much, having seen her picture in my mother’s magazines. She was a Toni doll, a promotional doll developed by the Toni Home Permanent Company of “Which twin has the Toni?” fame. There are photos of me holding this doll. I bent her moveable limbs and held her in a sitting position, just as one would hold a baby; securely, lovingly, proudly, facing the camera. She was gorgeous. She had long, dark tresses, which I was responsible for grooming. I had to wash, comb, style and minister mock perms that would curl her mock hair. She wore a black, red and white plaid silk dress that was styled to look like a jumper over a white, collared blouse. The triangular shaped bib of the mock jumper met the waistband of the mock skirt with a big red button. The mock blouse had puffy shoulders and sleeves edged in scalloping. The bib was trimmed in red rick-rack, and there were two rows of the same red rick-rack at the hem of the full, gathered plaid skirt.

She wore white silk anklet socks, and black patent leather strapped Mary Jane shoes. She had white cotton undies.

She was, as I said, gorgeous.

I permed and styled her hair frequently, and with great seriousness of purpose. Her long eyelashes and clear blue eyes were never touched by the gentle solutions that mimicked the shampoo and permanent products made by the company. Her red lips never faded despite my ministrations and wet kisses. I was extremely careful in all my interactions with Toni, which was all day every day unless I was in school. She watched me eat and bathe. She slept with me. I took her outside with me and placed her safely while I played with the other kids on the swings. Her little thin, arched eyebrows were impeccable. Her ears were always clean.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but Toni’s arrival in my arms, on my 6th birthday, coincided with my year-old sister learning to walk and talk. I was occupied with Toni, and would therefore not interfere with Mother and Nancy. It was a win/win situation. My mother had her baby. I had mine. We were both very good caregivers.

Toni’s hair eventually fell out from over-processing. I was 8 by then, and had moved from taking care of Toni to designing homes, teaching myself to do floor plans, elevations and site plans, to scale. I was still aware of Toni, and fond of her. But her hair was such a mess.

Mother remedied this situation by sending Toni to the “doll hospital” for new hair. She was gone for a long time. I almost forgot about her as my piles of floor plans and designs for paper doll clothes grew. One day, about a year after she had left home and been replaced on my bed by a red stuffed doggie, Toni came back. I excitedly opened the box to find her lying inside, eyes closed, with a short, tight, excessively curly blond wig. She was altered. Her ebony tresses had been replaced with hair that I could not ruin by dint of its uncombability. I welcomed Toni home, but she had lost her charm. Despite her still blue eyes, red lips, smooth cheeks and little pointy chin, despite her pretty dress, taut creamy skin and moveable limbs, she just didn’t interest me in the same way that she had. I was no longer captivated or committed. We were never the same as a couple.

I could not dismiss Toni, but I never played with her again. She sat on my bed for a while, along with the very few stuffed animals that I acquired – I was never too nuts about them. Then I started putting her in the back of closets and shelves, out of sight and out of mind.

Yet, to my credit, I have been true to her in my own way. I have kept her, moved her all the numerous times that I have moved, left her in storage for long periods, boxed and unboxed her over and over again. Her undies, shoes and socks are gone. But her beautiful dress is intact, her limbs are as flexible as ever. Strangely, like so many long-term couples, despite the ins and outs of our relationship and the toll of years, we have grown to look alike! We both currently have short, curly blond hair. On August 5th, I will be 66 years old. Toni will be 60. Although changed in tenor and type, my love and admiration for her endure. She is sitting next to me now, sweet and steadfast, as I type away on my laptop.

We’ve both been through a lot.

                                                          [Originally written on February 21, 2010]