In a Family Way

My two daughters have a pile of dolls, and the Christmas season’s bounty of new dolls opened an opportunity to offload a disturbing one: Its name, bestowed by her 35-pound freckled mommy, was Broken Neck Baby.

Broken Neck Baby was once a doll that could blink and cry. The blinking had stopped, leaving it with one open eye and one sealed half-closed. Its little rubber noggin had come to rest for days on the mailing label of my Vanity Fair: It left a permanent tattoo of my name and address on its temple. Its neck was broken, the exposed wires of what used to make it blink and cry made me constantly vigilant to keep the doll away from the baby.

Throwing her away was pretty traumatic. Past a pile of brand-new dolls from family members, my 4-year-old marches toward me: “Where is Broken Neck Baby?” I shared my real belief that the doll was no longer safe, an excuse that was lovingly accepted.

But the longing disappointment was real: Days later, a doll’s pacifier is ferreted out of a full toy chest. “Oh,” said a voice trembling with near tears, “this belonged to Broken Neck Baby.”

This is a story every parent knows already: Children will love toys to death, and if you held on to every scrap of the broken possessions, you’d be living in a landfill. Grown-ups have to teach children how to move on from material things. And on a daily basis, we need to teach coping and safety skills as well.

And children teach grownups, too, with their spirited defense of all creatures beautiful and ugly, of dogs both clean and smelly, of things whole and shattered. With their capacity to forgive flawed mothers who throw away beloved things, they remind us on a daily basis about the worthiness of unconditional love.

— By Erika Stutzman

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