Today, while I was out running a few errands, I saw a little girl in Target. She looked about nine years old. She seemed to be right at that age where her independence moves her to try to do her own hair, with less than stellar results. She was wearing jean shorts, rolled to just above the knee and a bright green shirt. And, nestled under her arm, was a well-loved stuffed dog.
As she beebopped through the store, chatting with her mother, looking at other merchandise, that stuffed dog remained in the crook of her arm.
I have been thinking about her ever since I saw her. I wanted to run up to her and tell her what she was doing was right. Nine-year-olds should love their stuffed animals. They should be enamored of their dolls, their stuffed animals, pretending and creating elaborate scenarios for them to exist in. I wanted to wink at her mother as if to say, "Way to go. Your little girl is being a little girl."
But, that would just come off way creepy.
I used to work at an elementary school and some of the conversations of little girls I would hear worried me. When I was nine years old, I talked to myself incessantly, inventing tragic situations that I and my stuffed animals would somehow have to survive (i.e. I was often an orphan, a child of the pioneers, off at boarding school, etc.). The little girls I worked with discussed fashion, cute movie/music stars, and even weight loss. (what?!)
But, today I saw a little girl unabashedly carrying a stuffed dog. And it gave me a little hope.
Now, if she's still carrying that stuffed dog around Target at 14, we'll have a chat. But, for now, it's all good.
