When we lived in North Texas Aunt Laura was Post Mistress of the Post Office and sometimes I visited her there while waiting for Dad to finish his errands in town.
On one of those visits she showed me the most beautiful doll I ever saw. She had won it in some sort of contest.
It was a German bisque doll about 28 inches tall, with long brown curls of real hair, dressed in a pale yellow, lace trimmed long dress and white kid shoes.
She remarked that she had never cared for dolls and was going to give it away. I hoped—but didn’t dare say—that she would give it to me. How I longed for that doll! I even dreamed about it at night. But the next time I was at the Post Office she told me she had given it to the daughter of a friend of hers. It just about broke my heart, but I never told anyone how much I wanted that doll. But I did make a promise to myself that if I ever had a little girl (or a granddaughter, I would see to it that she had pretty dolls, and I’m glad I can say I’ve kept that promise.
I had only two dolls when I was a child, the rag doll named Mary Jane that was burned because it had been in contact with the rabid dog, and a black haired china headed doll—and it burned when our house burned down.
Now I have several dolls! All of which will someday go to my beloved granddaughters. But to this day I still find myself looking for a doll like the one Aunt Laura gave away. It meant so little to her and so much to me