Page 31 - SD Woman Glace Ziperovich Issue

WRITER ' S SPO TLIGHT

Father Time The Doll Hospital

©2018 by Ava Lepor ©2018 by Ava Lepor
From Silver Linings from Silver Linings

Yesterday, my mother placed my father “Now, remember! Don’t you dare we’d smooth out all the wrinkles in every
into a home for the elderly. His dementia had touch my dolls while I’m gone!” My eight- bonnet, blouse, stocking, and pinafore.
been worsening. He had wandered away from year-old sister, over four years my senior, When it came to rehabilitating the dolls,
home with increasing frequency, not knowing would thus admonish me before leaving my otherwise laid-back dad was a per-
where he was going. Not sure where he had for school. She was lovely, sweet, and, fectionist. I must admit, I, too, was proud
come from. The police had responded to a call from my perspective, a little too well-be- of my efforts in our makeshift surgery
from a distraught couple in the wee hours. An haved. Yet at one point at the age of four, I center.
old man, laden with mail, was knocking at their went through a phase when I would turn Now, my sister believed we would
door. The addresses on the envelopes were all her into a nervous wreck. I just couldn’t actually take her babes to a real doll hos-
the same. The police had brought my father wait till nobody was looking and I could pital—a facility, I guess, she felt no com-
home, awakening my mother at five o’clock in get my hands on Terri Lee or some other munity should be without. This is why we
the morning. She had been upset, unable to doll she fretted over and adored. insisted on performing our medical mira-
get back to sleep, fearful. He had promptly for- Whereas my sister would dress up her cles in secret.
gotten about the entire incident, had relaxed, dolls in pretty pinafores and regale them When Daddy and I would present my
and gone to bed. with tea parties, I would pop them limb sister with her freshly rehabilitated dolls,
My mother would lie awake, fretting, wor- from limb, pull off their wigs, and remove her face would light up. Their nightly
rying, and examining her options. My father, their bonnets and pinafores. By the time homecoming was heartening—even for
awake or dreaming, was living his own reality. my sister would come home, her darlings me.
A separate reality. In the tangled web of his would be in shambles. I saw dolls as toys to be manipulated,
mind, he was once again a youth in his moth- “Look what you did to Terri Lee! Look but I never regarded living creatures that
er’s home. Or maybe his eldest sister’s home. He at Sally Anne!” she’d scream. “I told you to way. Though I was a highly imaginative
could be forty or thirty or eighteen. He would LEAVE THEM ALONE!” child, I reserved my compassion for pets,
fret that he must get home to his mother, who Now, I really wasn’t a heartless mon- not plastic. In fact, I was the one, at age
surely was anxiously awaiting his return. ster. I truly felt sorry for my distraught three, who let our pet parakeets out of
My mother, after much mental anguish, re- big sister. But I didn’t care a bit about the the cage, encouraging them to seek their
moved her husband of nearly fifty years from dolls. I was just a normal little girl who freedom in the great outdoors. Which,
their home. To protect him. And to protect her- saw dolls the way my sons have regard- naturally, they did. When I was four, I
self from the emotional torment that would ed Lego bricks—great for popping apart, opened the backyard gate, letting our
attack her peace of mind like a tenacious tres- popping together, and making all sorts antique desert tortoise out to explore the
passer. of novel creations. And I was really bent neighborhood and the vast field beyond.
My father is now a resident of a home for on playing with them, ahem, creatively. He must have had such a good time,
those for whom time stands still. For people “Wait till Daddy comes home,” I’d re- that he decided never to come home. I
with a perplexing present that is all but con- assure her. “We’ll take them to the doll missed him long after, but I valued liberty
sumed by the past. As the young live much of hospital.” and freedom for all living creatures.
the present in preparation for the future, the Sure enough, this would placate her. When we relate to small children, we
very old typically live much of the present in an And, like clockwork, when Dad would would do them and ourselves a favor by
ever-present nostalgia. For my father, it is much come home, she’d greet him with her recognizing that a little child’s mind is not
more than nostalgia. It is his reality. pitiful dolls, which were in desperate that of an adult; mischief is most often a
And I am left to wonder at life. At how we need of emergency surgery. useful learning tool. Certainly, we should
all reach milestones, sometimes when we least Of course, Dad knew I was the culprit. never allow a child to endanger himself
expect them. My eight-year-old son is sud- He was the great hero of my childhood, or others. But other than that, let’s appre-
denly becoming a real swimmer. My sixteen- the one who understood me and my ciate mischief for the good it does, and
year-old is driving. And my father, who in my quirks. He would invite me, with a private for the normal part of development, it is,
childhood was by far the strongest, smartest, wink, to help bring the ailing dolls to the nourishing children emotionally, mental-
most fabulous man who ever walked the face doll hospital. I would readily agree. ly, and physically.
of the earth, is quietly experiencing his own Then, Daddy and I would carry After all, children, unlike perfect little
milestone, not even knowing it. the miserable heap of dolls into his dolls, need the freedom to be children,
Yet I know it. The sound of his gentle voice bedroom, lock the door, and start our facilitating their growth into happy,
on the telephone reminds me from where doll-saving surgeries. We’d pop the arms healthy adults.
I have drawn my strength since my earliest back into the armholes and the legs into
memory. I know, deep in my heart, that the the leg holes. We’d put the wigs back on
source of that strength is not bound by time. and brush them until they shone. And
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