THE WISHBOOK DOLL

 

 

When I was small, a baby-child,

We lived at Gramma’s house.
Just Mom and me and Gram made three
For neither had a spouse.

Now in the fall the mail would bring

The Christmas catalogue.
I’d look and look that wish book o’er
To find the perfect doll.

And then one year on page nineteen

A doll with golden tresses
And, not to mention, a travel case
Filled up with many dresses.

“Oh, Gram, Dear Gram, could Santa ever know,

How it would tickle me,
If he could leave just such a doll
Under our Christmas tree?”

And Gramma smiled, I remember now,

How she smiled down at me,

“Oh, yes, I’m sure Dear Santa knows

So we’ll just wait and see.”

I read that wish book o’er and o’er,

And every toy was seen,

And every page was frayed and torn

But none like page nineteen.

And Christmas came in “Fifty-one”

Like any other year.
But special dreams of the wishbook doll
Had filled my heart with cheer.

And when it came to Christmas Eve,

he tree was up and lit.
My Mom came home from work and said
“Okay let’s go and see it.”

Then Gramma cracked the front room door

And we peered into the room
To see that grandest sight.
It would dispel the deepest gloom.

And there in our front room
A bright and shining tree,
And underneath, a box –
One large one I could see.

Oh, did he know?  How would he know?

But Gramma said he would!
I didn’t know;  how could he know?
But Gramma said he could!

The bed was old, the room was cold

But Momma held me close
And sure enough on Christmas Eve
I soon began to doze.

And do you know on Christmas morn

She had to waken me?
And take me in the living room
And said,  “Now here, let’s see.”

“Dear Santa’s left one here for Gram,

And one for you and me,
You wake her up and tell her “Come,”
And I’ll plug in the tree.”

When we came back, the tree aglow,

Mom had the gifts all set.
I hesitated – At five I wondered,
Could Santa Dear forget?

But in my box with ribbons red

Was Gram’s old travel bag.
She’d patched with tape the well worn spots
And got a new name tag.

And in the case with my name on it

Were lovely golden tresses
On a store-bought doll with big blue eyes
And a dozen homemade dresses.

And every dress was a print I knew

That one of us would wear,
For Mom and Gramma both could sew,
Much more than mend a tear.

When I turned back to page nineteen

The wishbook doll still there,
I was stunned to see the dreamer’s doll
Had little to compare.

For my dear doll had blonder hair

And bluer eyes that closed
And all her dresses prettier
Much more than any of those.

And Gramma’s travel case was just the thing.

It even had my name.
I knew I’d never want the other
After Dear Santa came.

For Santa always knows, you see,

When Christmas wishes rise,
Why, that’s why Christmas wishbooks
Are sent for little eyes.

Now every year when it gets fall

I wait and watch the mail
And when the Christmas wishbook comes
I see what Doll’s for sale.

At thirty-six I’ve seen some dolls

And wished.  But I reckon my best guess is
That no dreamer’s doll could e’er compare,
With dimestore dear in homemade dresses.

By Doris Ann

Copyright – 2012 - Doris Grant Frey