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Christmas Wishes


According to Google, Cabbage Patch Kids toys had hit the shelves in early 1983.  By the end of the year almost three million had been "adopted" by an eager child. They were in high demand and cost somewhere around $30.

And I wanted one. 

At ten years old I was too old to believe in Santa.  I knew any hope of receiving one of these coveted toys would be dependent upon my parents' ability to find one when they were continually sold out.  I also knew that even if they could find one, they might not be able to afford to buy it for me; our family of seven relied on one paycheck and money was always tight. 

So I hoped and hoped, but prepared myself for disappointment.  To be frank, I had convinced myself that no adorable little yarn-haired, chubby-cheeked, baby doll would be wrapped and waiting for me on Christmas morning. 

Money was tight.  The dolls were impossible to find.

Strike One. Strike Two. 

Maybe I'd get another Barbie or some books.  Either would be a welcome treat. 

The weeks leading up to Christmas were filled with wishful thinking and fanciful daydreams of me showing my cousin, Jessica, my lovely new Cabbage Patch doll while I got to admire hers.  She was my closest playmate and we often wished for the same toys.  Yet, deep down, I knew, just knew, that I would not be getting a Cabbage Patch doll. 

Christmas morning came in due time.  I imagine it started like a lot of Christmas mornings did back then.  Either my brother, BJ, or I would be the first to rise.  We'd make hot cocoa for our step-mom and coffee for my dad.  Maybe we'd even throw together a little bit of a pre-breakfast treat.  Someone would make sure the tree was plugged in and then we'd wake everyone up.  Sometimes, this script would change and the little ones would help us prepare for the magical unwrapping awaiting us, but mostly I just remember me and BJ whispering in the kitchen as we got things around.

I couldn't tell you want else waited for us under the tree that year.  I can only tell you how I cried when I opened up a Cabbage Patch doll that wasn't really a Cabbage Patch doll.  She didn't come in the branded box and she didn't have adoption papers.  But she looked like a Cabbage Patch doll!  She had the same cute face, the same squeezable body, and the same yarn-for-hair.  She was adorable in her blue dress, and I loved her immediately.

Yet, it wasn't my affection for the doll that I recall most vividly.  What I remember most is that moment when I realized that my parents' desire to make my dreams come true had moved them to find a creative solution.  I felt so loved in that moment.  I wonder now if they knew the emotion behind the tears I shed that magical morning.  I imagine not.  I bet they thought it was just about a doll.






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