Barbie Dolls

When I was little, I used to be fascinated by the Barbie doll commercials that played on Cartoon Day, the day also known as Saturday.  I’m aging myself a little here, because as a nation we’ve become so indulgent that now there is never any day when there are not cartoons on the TV on some channel. Kids are no longer taught that they must wait patiently for six whole days until they see another cartoon.   But I digress. 

I was a boy.  Boys did not play with Barbie Dolls.  I had to ask my mom why they showed Barbie Doll commercials to little boys when we weren’t allowed to play with them, and my mom’s answer was that it was the same reason little girls were shown commercials for boys’ toys.  This was a non-answer, sure, but it quelled my line of questioning.  I was a boy, boys didn’t play with Barbie dolls, and that was that.  But why did I want to play with them so bad? 

Then one day when I was four or five, something amazing happened.  I was watching cartoons (which meant that this was a Saturday, because, as I’ve pointed out, that was the only day with cartoons on TV) and a new Barbie commercial came on.  This, my friends, was the best Barbie to ever be made, and the commercial made you KNOW it.  She was Peaches and Cream Barbie, and she wore a devastatingly beautiful gown with a sequins bodice and full, peach skirt.  She had a wrap of peach tulle which you could style in a myriad of ways to suit the occasion she was going to.  This, my friends, was the forbidden fruit in my own personal Garden of Eden: it was not an apple, it was a peach. 

My cousin Nita is six years older than I am, and her birthday was coming up.  This meant that she would have been turning ten or eleven years old.  My Gram decided she would take me shopping so that I could pick out a gift to give to Nita.  I was excited.  I knew we weren’t shopping for toys for me, but shopping for toys period was enough to get me going.  And this would be shopping for girl toys!  This was truly going to be a magical day!  And when we got to the toy aisle, there she was: Peaches and Cream Barbie in her shining cellophane packaging.  She looked into my eyes, and I looked into hers, and she winked at me, I swear it. 

“Gram,” I said, “this is what we HAVE to get for Nita.” 

Gram was not only down with my decision, she one-upped me.  She said we should get the doll and a package full of accessories to go with her!  It was almost too much.  I can still feel my heart swelling up in my throat when I remember driving back to Gram’s house to wrap our gifts up.  If it was possible, the real, live Peaches and Cream Barbie in my hands was even more beautiful than the model they used for the commercial.  She had a California tan, naturally wavy blonde hair, big blue eyes, and lips tinted peach.  The accessory pack included jewelry, a mink wrap, some brushes and hair clips, and a few more pairs of shoes.  This would be the greatest, most wonderful birthday gift anyone every received.  This was f***ing Peaches and Cream Barbie!

We went to the birthday party and Nita was playing with all her friends and I waited.  We had to all eat dinner, and I waited.  We had to sing happy birthday to Nita and she had to blow all the candles out, and I waited.  Finally it was time to open gifts.  Why couldn’t she open Peaches and Cream first?  Why did she have to wait?  Couldn’t she feel the energy radiating from the package I had helped Gram wrap with curly ribbon and a bow! 

Finally Nita opened the package. 

She looked at Peaches and Cream Barbie. 

She looked up at Gram, and she said thank you.

And then she dropped Peaches and Cream Barbie into a pile of  other presents and never looked at her again. 

I was a boy.  I wasn’t allowed to play with Barbie dolls, but I could barely eat my slice of birthday cake because of the lump in my throat.  I wanted so badly to see her again.  I needed to free her from her cellophane prison and hold her in my own hands.  Why didn’t Nita see that this Barbie wasn’t just any Barbie?  This was Peaches and Cream Barbie!  The Best Barbie!  She had her own commercial where she danced with Ken in the pale moonlight!

Gram came to my rescue. 

“Sister,” she said.  Gram always calls Nita Sister.  “I think Frankie might like you to open your doll so he can see her better.” 

Nita obliged.  I wasn’t allowed to play with her, boys can’t play with girl toys.  But for a few shining moments on my Aunt Sis’s couch, I sat silently and held Peaches and Cream Barbie in my own hands and stared into her deep, blue eyes.  There was love between us.  I knew it.  I could feel it.  Peaches and Cream Barbie and I were meant to be together.  But I was a boy and she was a girl toy, so I had to leave her behind and never see her again. 

Many years later, after relating this story to my friend, Judy, I received a nostalgic remake of Peaches and Cream Barbie for Christmas of 2010.  Thank you, Judy.  She is, to this day, one of my most prized possessions.  But it set me to thinking about girl toys and boy toys.  We know as children that they are separate.  If we are one gender we can never play with the toys of another gender.  But what if we divided up the toys based on skin color, or ethnicity, or religion?  What if I couldn’t play with Peaches and Cream Barbie because I didn’t have the right social status? 

Marriage, for me, is like a beautiful Barbie doll.  I can see it, I can want it, I can look deep into its eyes and know that I would love it dearly.  But because of my gender, and the gender of the one I love, I can never have it.  Marriage must be protected from boys and girls who play with the wrong toys by a shining cellophane package.  You would never think to deny me my marriage rights if I picked a spouse of another skin color, another ethnicity, another religion.  But because of the gender of the participants, we all look away when it is denied.  Why is it okay to deny a right in our society because of gender? 

I see so many marriages thrown into a pile of presents and never looked at twice by the people who are allowed to have them.  All I want to do is sit on my aunt’s couch and hold a marriage for a while.  I would love it.  I would treasure it.  I would make it my own.  But I can’t, because I’m a boy, and boys can’t have marriages to other boys.  Grooms are a girl’s  toy.