When I got it for my birthday I was told it was a doll for boys. For me it didn’t matter if dolls were for boys or girls. I just knew I liked mine. It was special to me. It had a small red nose, freckles, a soft cotton body and a plastic head with a beautiful smile. The kind of smile that is not too obvious, but modest and reassuring. My grandmother used to make clothes for it. Pretty woolen clothes that made me think of the warm clothes she made for me. It was the first thing that I ever named and took care of. Every evening it sat in my room and watched over me while I went to sleep.
As I grew older I started to notice that the combination of having a doll and being a boy was looked upon as strange. Something I obviously didn’t want to be. I still liked my doll but I was really scared about what my friends and other people would say if they would find out. He was my first real secret. As friends stayed over I would hide him in the closet. After they left I took him out again and tell him I was very sorry. This worked out pretty well for my doll and me until one day I forgot to put him in the closet.
The boy that came over for our play date was very loud scared me a bit. He always wanted to play war or throw stuff. I did not really like him, but he asked my mom and me to come over so many times, I finally said yes. The day he came to my house he was even more hyperactive than usual. He was throwing toys around and I just wanted him to leave. When my mother got enough of the yelling, running and throwing she said we should go upstairs and play in my room. As he went up the stairs towards my bedroom I just hoped his father would come to pick him up quickly.
I followed him into my room and before I knew it he was holding my doll. He held him upside-down and said it was the stupidest doll he had ever seen. I was so ashamed for the fact that he saw that I had a doll, that I told him it was my sisters. To make sure he would believe me I said I didn’t like it and thought dolls were stupid. After that remark he started to throw him around.
I could hear the sound his head made when it hit my bed, my desk and finally the stairs. All the way down. I watched and tried to fake a smile. “This doll is so stupid, look at its silly red nose, and look at its stupid clothes”. I nodded. I felt like the weakest person in the world. After a while he got bored of throwing it around. I hoped he would quit, but he didn’t. Instead he got a green marker and started to draw a moustache on his face, I just watched.
His father finally came to pick him up. They left and I just felt incredibly sorry. I immediately tried to wash of the moustache using a big white towel. The towel was getting greener every time I wiped his face, but one green stripe just didn’t come off. No matter how hard I would rub the towel against the shiny plastic. I promised myself I would never be this weak again. It was his first scar. He still smiled.