Teddy Bears' Picnic

 The Presbyterian Women’s Teddy Bear Picnic brought back several memories of stories from my childhood.

I was the only granddaughter for 3 years on both sides of my family.  I was showered with dolls and dresses and all things pink from not just my grandparents but my great aunts and uncles.  One of the great aunts bought me a giant black and white panda which I slept with. I loved the texture of its fur— so soft and, well, furry.  I didn’t have much use for dolls, and couldn’t understand why other little girls liked dolls that were hard, plastic and so needy, wanting clothes and shoes to be changed, wanting a bottle, needing diaper changes.  My mother later confessed she was concerned that I wasn’t very “motherly”.. .

So, when I was in Kindergarten and chosen to be in the musical performance of “Teddy Bears Picnic” I was super excited—it’s all I could talk about.  I can still hum the tune.  My mother and grandmother hopped on board, made me a new dress and the day of the performance my mother spent a lot of time getting my hair in banana curls:  after sleeping in rag curls Mom had to  section my hair,  wrapping each section around a finger, brushing each hair to smooth the curl, then slowly removed her finger.  After she applied my rouge and lip stick, I was ready to go.

The time for my performance arrived.  Grandma and Mom were in the audience—they couldn’t wait to see the star with the banana curls and new dress.  When they saw me, they were so disappointed: I heard this story repeatedly from them.  I had been crammed into a teddy bear costume with only my eyes showing—no makeup, no curls, no new dress.  But I was so happy to become a teddy bear for a few minutes!

When I had children of my own, my mother even bought me the book Teddy Bears Picnic with a record of Bing Crosby singing the tune! I still wonder why some prefer dolls to the warm fuzziness of a teddy bear.

The French Doll

****This was written to be fiction, but it's more historical fiction, since some of it is true****

Before Roy had shipped off to France to fight in World War I, he’d finally focused on one girl—the boss’s daughter.  Vivian Maupin wasn’t as pretty as the other girls but she was kind, fun to be with and came from one of the best families in DeSoto, Missouri, a small town outside of St. Louis.  DeSoto had two industries—the shoe factories and the round house for Missouri Pacific Railroad where the engines came for repairs.  Vivian’s father was the superintendent of the round house where Roy had worked as a boiler maker.

Private first class Roy Long had just arrived in France and was looking for something to send Vivian whose ancestors had been French.  He walked through the market and wondered what he could send her to let her know he was thinking of her.  She was just a few years older than his sisters—what would they like? 

He felt drawn to a  booth with trinkets and dolls.  His sisters would love a doll from France, maybe Vivian would, too.  He picked up one with red hair, pouting lips and big flirty eyes that seem to be beckoning him. Her hat tilted to the side was certainly different from the bonnets worn by his sisters.  He hoped Vivian would know by this gift that he loved her and would stay by her side.

“How much is this doll?” he asked the small, mustached merchant.

“Parlez vous Francais?” 

Roy spoke English and a little German but no French. He repeated, "How much is the doll?"

The merchant shrugged his shoulders, unable to understand.

Roy then heard a small voice speaking to the merchant.  The merchant listened, smiled and nodded.  Roy looked around for a child but didn’t see one.  The merchant held up a coin and indicated with his hands that was what Roy needed to pay for the doll.

Roy found the coin in his pocket and paid the merchant.  As the merchant began wrapping the doll in paper, Roy asked, “What is her name?”  He had forgotten the merchant couldn't speak English.  The merchant leaned toward the package, listening to a muffled murmur before he responded, “Vivienne.”