A little story about dolls
I grew up playing dolls with my brother. A lot. And the thing is, I have plenty of siblings. I grew up with 3 sisters and 4 brothers, but I never really played dolls with any of my sisters? Like, if they wanted to play with us it was fine but I’d never ask them to, I only asked my brother and would only play if he was there. Idk why, it was an « us » thing I guess, but he was the one I had the worst relationship with.
I had non-existing relationships with the oldest, and the ones younger than me were too young to have a real bond. But I would ALWAYS fight with my brother, the only reason I never broke anything (on me or him) is because I was afraid of hurting him too much and would back down while still infuriated.
But then, there would be times where we’d get along perfectly, building our own little town inside the house, creating rules and currency, roads and businesses, taking care of our inanimated children. We would take our arts and crafts supplies to make our money and other accessories, build Lego Phones etc. We’d cook together, and clean everything up after ourselves in perfect harmony.
I don’t know what made us get along that great, because I know why we didn’t really get along. We were both middle-ish children who needed attention from parents who had way too much on their plates, I was scared of confrontation and he hated any sort of authority, and we were way too similar to get along while that immature with a complete lack of self-awareness. But then, why would the dolls bring us together so well?
I still don’t know, but I think about that a lot.
Also my brother was an absolute ANGEL with those dolls, he had his favourite (A little black boy with an afro that we called Toto, he was one of the three POC dolls we had, AND those dolls had genitals, I don’t remember what brand they were but damn kudos.) that he cared for very much, he was basically the perfect father at age 4-11. I can’t wait until he has kids, he’s gonna be great.
