Hi, Heidi!

Somewhere, in the womb most likely, something happened to me that made me do inexplicable things. I think I was about five when my mom decided I needed to play with dolls and not trucks. She got me the doll that was all the rage—her name was, “Hi, Heidi.” She had a button on her stomach that you pushed and her arm flew up in the “Hi” position. The commercials were cool—the arm always worked right on the ads as all the little girls sang, “Hiiii, Heidi!” She was quite the girl, and one could purchase many outfits for her if one saw fit. Please note her long, shiny hair—that had to go immediately. I decided to give her a haircut, which would better reflect her inner beauty as I saw it. No, I say, no, she did not now look like a boy, she was now trend setting with her short, jagged-from-dull-scissors style. Grandma was kind enough to fashion clothes for her that included little blue jeans and short sleeve button down shirts. The dress she came with was quickly a memory, buried somewhere in the backyard. Upon seeing her new style, my mom just looked quizzically at me—in this moment, I think she saw what was in store for her as I grew up. I was never again told I had to have a doll.

 

But, all things come full circle—soon, I was putting GI Joe on my birthday wish list. Lo, on birthday morning, Joe arrived. He wasn’t just any Joe, he was Adventure Team GI Joe with “lifelike” hair and beard, he talked, and was jointed, so his legs and arms would bend. Oh, did he ever look dashing. The polar reconnaissance gear was pretty cool too. I bent his knees and slid him into the GI Jeep with a couple of his GI buddies and off he went, racing down Garden Avenue’s steep hill. My little commando team survived the trip, but one was pretty banged up after the tragic, yet inevitable crash. I decided to turn one into “injured” Joe forevermore, and wrapped him in gauze and first aid tape. Adventure Team GI Joe was unscathed, but the more I looked at him, the less I liked that beard. Out came my mom’s razor, you know, the one she used to shave her legs. Off came most of the beard and with it, much of his little plastic face—war is hell! I was nowhere to be found when mom discovered her razor where it had been stealthily hidden.

 

Toys were lots of fun before they became capitalist tools. ~ Beth Copeland Vargo

 Published on: Mar 31, 2006