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Before I left for my trip to New York City this summer, I was filled with anticipation. I had dreamed of returning to the city ever since I visited at eight-years-old. From the moment I saw the skyscrapers waving in the wind, I wondered what my grand return would be like, hoping that when I was older, I would still revisit the store I remembered the most vividly: the American Girl Doll store. Although many things have changed since that initial visit, two things remained constant: my love for my dolls and for my mom.
A Childhood Memory
I like to think that all girls were as much of American Girl fanatics as I was; however, I know the brand wasn’t for everyone. Still, at my elementary school, most of my peers loved the dolls. I’m almost certain that if I asked them, “Do you remember when you got your first American Girl doll?” they’d give me an ecstatic yes.
It’s a memory that becomes engraved in your mind. For me, it was Christmas morning in 2012, and I had been anxiously watching the clock tick, ready to dash downstairs. Under the glow of the Christmas tree, I opened my gifts with gratitude, but something was missing. I felt a twinge of disappointment – maybe my wish just wasn’t going to come true.
But then something magical happened. Out of nowhere, my mom presented me with a long rectangular box that I would commit to memory. I tore through the wrapping paper and saw my doll through the circle of clear plastic, my mind was shocked that she was real and would be mine to keep.
Her name was Caroline Abbott, and she was about to be my best friend.
It All Begins with a Catalog
My soon-to-be best friend caught my attention through the iconic American Girl catalog. My mom presented it to me and I was enamored by everything I saw. A whole world of imagination had just been given to me. Then I saw Caroline with her honey-blonde hair and green eyes. My mom noted that she looked like me, and thus the obsession started; I looked at the catalog so much it got torn to shreds, with a million circles of black ink imprinted on its pages.
My mom kept my love of the brand alive for years. My collection grew and new dolls were added. Piles of catalogs filled our home and each Christmas, my mom and I would sit down to look at the special holiday edition together, as I wondered what I would be lucky enough to get this year.
Of course I loved the brand like no tomorrow, but I realize now that my mom’s love equaled mine. As a history buff herself, my mom adored the historical accuracy of the clothing and little accessories each doll had that accompanied their American-era story.
Our love of the brand took us to the magical flagship store in Chicago, and we frequented the now-closed Chesterfield Mall location in Missouri. My mom and I would spend what felt like hours in the stores, looking at every display case and playing with any set that caught our eye. For us, American Girl was more than a brand; it was a whole world we fell in love with.
We all grow up eventually
For a while, when Christmas rolled around, I wondered if I would peek under the tree and see that recognizable rectangular box lying there. For our own nostalgia, my mom and I still looked at the holiday catalog. Pointing out what I would have wanted if I were still a child. A sentimental part of me thought, did I really have to give up the thing that brought me so much joy as I grew?
Well, in New York City I got my answer. Since the tickets were bought, I knew where we would go first: the brand new American Girl Doll store that had been opened at Rockefeller Plaza.
When I tugged open those golden-handled doors, I was transported back to my first New York City trip.
A memory resurfaced; I was looking giddily up at my mom as the escalator took us to the store’s second floor. I was bouncing up and down, clutching my doll as my mom looked at me with pure happiness.
It was a similar, yet mellow happiness that was also felt during our most recent trip. We looked around and reminisced about my dolls, pointing out the plethora of ones that I own. But even if my excitement was not the same, the joy was no different.
We were enthralled by the displays and the attention to detail of the brand. I still ran ahead of my mom, pointing out the cuteness of a tiny loaf of doll-size bread. And just like I had the first time we were here, I asked if I could go back and revel in this wonderful world for just a bit longer.
Connection that lasts a lifetime
I’m glad I asked for those extra seconds because something wonderful happened.
Earlier, as we browsed through the displays, I saw a familiar old friend. There she was, Caroline Abbott, pristinely in her case, reminding me of the day I received her. My mom and I gave each other a knowing look, and I exclaimed that there she was, my doll, and of course we had to take a picture of me next to her.
And then, as we turned to leave, I heard an older female voice, shouting out in glee.
“Oh my gosh, it’s Molly! That was my doll!”
The woman was talking to her young daughter, and as I looked back, I saw a large group of mothers with their own daughters. Excitement permeated through the space; this was a special day indeed. I could feel the mothers’ joy as they eagerly introduced their beloved dolls to their little girls.
At that moment, my mother and I shared a smile, understanding the connection a doll can bring between mothers and daughters. It’s a hope of mine to continue that legacy with my own daughter one day.
Now, I understand that growing up means holding onto the joy that your childhood self had. I might not play with my American Girl dolls anymore, but the love it fostered within me and the connection it created with my mom are feelings that no time can erase.