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The Day Barbie Taught Me How Boys Aren’t Supposed to Play
It wasn’t my first lesson in gender roles, but it was the most clear.
Thanksgiving in the bicentennial year of 1976 was extra fun. I was seven years old, and my Dad, who worked in law enforcement, had taken us to his partner’s house. The sound of monster movies on channel 9 mingled with the aromas of turkey, stuffing, canned cranberry sauce and my favorite: my stepmom’s famous pineapple-and-marshmallow sweet potatoes (secret ingredient: a tablespoon of crunchy peanut butter).
Our families didn’t live close enough to visit each other more than a few times a year, but I’d slowly become friends with their daughter, Anna. She was friendly and smart, and while the grown-ups talked football and recipes and home improvement Anna and I would go upstairs and play with her toys.
And like most seven-year-old girls in the seventies, that meant Barbie.
GI Joe had cool stuff — but he had nothin’ on Barbie
My parents got me the 70’s era GI Joe doll so early I can’t remember ever not having it. This was before the cartoon or the little plastic action figures — he was a 10-inch tall burly man in camo with real fuzz on his head and lantern jaw. He also had an aesthetically tough scar…
