I came to a shocking realization last week.
I am the human equivalent of Molly, the American Girl doll.
Put her in an AC/DC shirt or me in an argyle sweater and it’s undeniable.
As a child, there was only one thing I wanted more than a new Polly Pocket: an American Girl doll. Everyone seemed to have them. I was so jealous when my classmates got to play with Addy or Felicity while I was stuck with Lincoln Logs. I would sit in the corner of the classroom, sighing deeply and contemplating theft. Ultimately, however, my better judgment and immense fear of punishment convinced me to find an alternate solution.
So, I did what I do best: desperately beg my parents until they are annoyed into compliance (an act I have come to perfect). Of course, if I had one, Jamie had to have one, too. So, one glorious day, we came home from school only to find two large packages from the American Girl store in our living room.
I could barely contain my excitement as I tore open the box. However, my exhilaration quickly turned to utter disappointment as I observed its contents. Of all the American Girl dolls, my parents (actually, I think it was my grandma) decided to order the nerdiest one of all for me. Staring back at me through her hideous glasses was Molly McIntire.
My sister, being the beautiful blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl she is, got Kirsten, of course. After expressing my distaste for the new doll, my parents explained that they ordered Molly because she was the most similar to me. Keep in mind – I didn’t have glasses or bangs at this time. They explained that she had long brown hair and loved to read – just like me.
I huffed and puffed. Didn’t they understand? Reading wasn’t cool. I got made fun of for reading all the time. My classmates called me names because I would rather read at recess than swing or jump rope. The bus was a living hell. How could I face my peers when I brought Molly, the dork, to school? Even worse, Molly came with a beret. Samantha had long brown hair, too. Why couldn’t they buy Samantha for me? She was popular
and fashionable.
My parents, however, stood their ground this time. They refused to buy me another doll and assured me that Molly had more to offer than any of the other American Girl dolls. They said she was smart, creative, and talented and it didn’t matter that she had a beret. She didn’t need nice clothes or tons of friends to be exceptional. Molly was ahead of her time, smarter and kinder than the mean girls who made fun of her for reading. She was different and special, just like me.
At some point, I finally realized that my parents weren’t kidding. So, I sucked it up and brought Molly to school.
The reaction of my classmates must not have been too bad because I don’t remember it. I do, however, remember creating different scenarios with my sister for Molly and Kirsten. We would spend hours, dressing them and creating conversations between them. I also remember getting my hair cut the next year. I asked for bangs.
As I got older, I moved on to bigger and better things, like gel pens and the Backstreet Boys. Years passed and Molly gathered dust in my closet. One fateful day in tenth grade, I got glasses. Things changed, my friends changed, my toys changed, and I changed. One thing, however, remained the same. I always loved to read. Reading helped me escape. It took me to places I’d never been, places that I longed to go, and places that didn’t even exist. It helped develop my creativity and the more I read, the more I wrote.
Now, fourteen years later, I’m sitting here with a laptop in my lap, smiling because my parents were right. Somehow, although I tried my hardest to avoid it, they saw that I was Molly, even without the bangs and the glasses. I may not be the most popular, the most athletic, the most fashionable, or the prettiest, but I know now that that’s okay.
It’s okay to be smart. It’s okay to be the one who reads during recess. After years of teasing, that girl, the one with a book in her hand, will grow up to be smart, mature, and kind-hearted. She will forgive those who made fun of her and she will make plenty of friends in time. She will continue to read and learn, she will attend piano lessons instead of soccer practice, and she will win ‘Most Likely to Succeed,’ rather than ‘Best Looking.’ She will develop a snarky sense of humor and she will spend hours, reflecting and writing in her blog.
My parents were right – I don’t have to be Samantha. I’m perfectly content being Molly – smart, creative, and
special.
I still wouldn’t be caught dead in a beret.
