As every rag doll, with time deteriorates & becomes dirty. My rag doll was not an exception. That fact did not concern me but it did to my mother who, every time we were going on an outing, she tried to convince me to leave the doll behind.
On our way to visit my aunt Nelly's house we had to take the train. There was one day ... the three of us were on the platform- my mother, me, and my doll. The train came. As we were stepping in the doors suddenly closed catching my hand (that held the doll) in between the doors. My mother was horrified and wanted me to drop the doll so the doors can closed properly and I can be safe. I was not about to chance my tune. I told my mother that the doll was coming with me, I was willing to have my hand in between the doors holding to the doll till we got to the next station. My mother then stood there with me, anxiously looking & holding my other hand, and probably praying in silence.
The next station came. The doors opened. My mother immediately pull me toward a sit where the three of us sat in silence for the rest of the ride.
I was six years old. I am past 50 now and I still remember that moment ...
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| My Rag Doll. Oil on Canvas. 11" x 14". $650 |