When I was a little kid–these 3-1/2 inch dollies–called “Pee Wees” were a pretty hot ticket.
In the sixties—yes, that’s when I was a kid, move on, move on—these little things cost around $1.25 each–about a month and a half’s worth of allowance.
I would save up for what seemed like years and then we’d head off to Woolworth’s to choose my little Pee Wee doll. It was a huge decision for a kid like me. I mean, they were–after all— coming to live with me, forever, so I had to be careful to choose just the right one. It felt more like an adoption than a…you know…purchase.
So, I had this friend in the Second grade named Belisa. She was very pretty and had a graceful sense of class–for a 2nd grader–so I tried very hard to be like her. She wore pretty dresses so I wanted to wear pretty dresses. She had white shoes–so I had white shoes. But what really intrigued me was that she carried around a tiny little tan purse. Quite a mysterious thing to an unsophisticated child like me. So, at my very next birthday, I asked for a purse–just like Belisa’s.
I was beyond excited to take my lovely, amazing purse to school the next day. Only problem was that when it came time to leave, I really had no idea what a 7 year old is suppose to carry around in the darn thing in the first place. On my way out the door I grabbed a handful of Pee Wee dolls, stuffed them in and went on my merry way.
It’s quite likely that Belisa thought I was a complete wack-job when she saw my brand new purse bursting at the seams–not with lace hankies and peppermint chapstick–but with nearly a dozen teeny tiny baby dolls and their itty, bitty bottles.
Crazy, that is, until I poured them all out and became the instant hit of the playground.
there are worse things. I mean she could have put you in a TAP class.
I suppose that kids these days would positively hate it—but back then, other than the fact that it was terrifically UNcool, it was actually—dare I say—
Yeah…I know. But, here’s the thing—we got to wear shiny, noisy shoes and sticky-outty dresses and be in shows…ok, mostly at rest homes, but still.
We liked it because it was something to do and it was—like I said, pretty fun.
Well, except when Mrs. Ross, the squeeky little tapping dance teacher yelled and screamed at us. That was pretty scary.
The dance number here was called “Pretty Baby” and I’m the blonde “fro-girl” on the right. My sister was too “grown-up” for this number. Naa-naa.
If, by chance you are feeling great sadness and anxiety over that fact that YOU didn’t get to take a tap class–well today’s your lucky day. Yessiree! Now, with the magic of the internet YOU can learn to tap this very minute. Don’t waste another moment–Click HERE. You know you want to.
If, however, you are way too young to know what the heck I’m even talking about,