 |
| Barbie with Puppy Swim School |
Wow. I can’t believe I’m going to come down on the side of Barbie.
I can’t believe I’m about to say that her ridiculously blonde hair, disproportionately stacked build and glittery outfits are all that they should be.
Because sometimes, they should be.
A campaign recently began to ask Mattel to create a bald Barbie in support of children with cancer. Mattel’s subsidiary, American Girl, has received similar requests.
A Facebook group dedicated to the cause has nearly 120,000 likes. Many on there tell heart-breaking stories of illnesses that have impacted their children and other family members. In an article written by the Associated Press, the page’s founders say a bald Barbie would help raise awareness for children with cancer.
Sorry, but "awareness" is a grown-up word, a grown-up notion. Do children need to be aware of cancer if it isn’t in their world? Do children in that situation want a doll that looks like them or do they want a doll that does what so many dolls do for girls – provide a fantasy world?
I have no children, but I have had cancer. I was fortunate to not lose my hair and got more than few jolts of the real world when sitting in oncology waiting rooms with people and children who had.
As a kid, however, I had the kinds of things that make you realize you are not like other kids. I wore leg braces and, later, a back brace. Walk out the door with bolts on your shoes and metal around your neck and try to feel like the other kids.
Yet what I needed most back then -- and got -- wasn't some awareness campaign or a toy that looked like me. I had parents who somehow, miraculously, made me believe that as much as this stunk, it shouldn't have to affect who I was or who I wanted to be.
When I went to Girl Scout camp, I went to regular old camp. One year, we were visited by kids from a nearby camp for disabled children. There was a girl who visited who had the same back brace I did for the same reason I did. My parents sent me to Girl Scout camp, let me play basketball, climb trees, ride my bike and generally be a regular kid. This other girl's parents sent her to a camp for disabled kids. I wish I had been older and more mature to talk to her about it; the memory of that saddens me to this day.
As a kid, however, I had the kinds of things that make you realize you are not like other kids. I wore leg braces and, later, a back brace. Walk out the door with bolts on your shoes and metal around your neck and try to feel like the other kids.
Yet what I needed most back then -- and got -- wasn't some awareness campaign or a toy that looked like me. I had parents who somehow, miraculously, made me believe that as much as this stunk, it shouldn't have to affect who I was or who I wanted to be.
When I went to Girl Scout camp, I went to regular old camp. One year, we were visited by kids from a nearby camp for disabled children. There was a girl who visited who had the same back brace I did for the same reason I did. My parents sent me to Girl Scout camp, let me play basketball, climb trees, ride my bike and generally be a regular kid. This other girl's parents sent her to a camp for disabled kids. I wish I had been older and more mature to talk to her about it; the memory of that saddens me to this day.
For a child with cancer, I imagine her regular kid world would include her toys and her dolls, no matter how unreal they look. For little girls, Barbie is a fantasy world. She’s held up as ideal, a beautiful ideal, someone many little girls grow up wanting to be.
For a sick child, I would think that would be a wonderful escape. Feminists and cultural critics have long debated the wisdom of Barbie as a role model, but in this case let the child have her fantasy and spare her the teaching moment. I suspect even without a special Barbie, a little girl with cancer is gaining quite an awareness of what the real world has to offer.
Do children need this "awareness" in their toys? That’s what it comes down to. Barbie is not alone in this regard. The pink juggernaut of breast cancer has had things such as rubber duckies, Beanie Babies and even a pink Sponge Bob Square Pants toy.
In a perfect world, children would never have to be aware of these things. But in a world that’s far from perfect, letting a child believe her Barbie is perfect might be some of the best medicine of all.
 |
| The image promoted by those who want Mattel to create a Beautiful Bald Barbie. |
Amen, Jane. As a fellow cancer survivor who didn't have to lose her hair, I nonetheless sported a raw, angry scar across the base of my neck for about a year and a half -- the kind that once caused a checker at the grocery store to ask, "Did someone try to cut your head off?" My daughter was 7 at the time, and the last thing she needed was a Barbie with a neck scar. Her fantasy play was the escape she needed; she and her 10-year-old brother knew all too much about cancer. And children who actually have cancer don't need to be more aware of it; they need to get the heck away from it for a while.
ReplyDelete