I was 6 years old, maybe 7 when my parents surprised me at Christmas, with a near life sized raggedy doll. Her feet had an elastic strip sewn into the sides of her “shoes” allowing you to slip your feet through, thereby supporting the Doll’s feet as they rested upon top of your own to… dance with her.
Standing upright, the Doll measured a good 3 foot tall, long legged and lanky armed, her red stuffed cloth body was all flexible and floppy like. After all, what child wouldn’t want the pleasure of dancing with an oversized Raggedy Ann doll donned in simple dress, her head a mass of yellow woven “hair” childishly styled in pigtails.
It wasn’t the body so much that made me uncomfortable, it was the face, almost flesh toned the smooth plastic had enormous, open eyes painted on in vibrant cerulean blue. If seen in the light of predawn, her smile might pass as a smirk but for the clothing and pillows I intentionally piled upon her before going to bed in an attempt to prevent my imagination from running wild with the vision of her standing by my bedside, hand extended, inviting me to take a walk.