Do you remember Pig Latin? Igpay atinlay?
What of invisible ink? Passing secret messages
across the fourth-grade aisle.
Or swearing a blood oath without the blood.
Skinny pony-tailed little things with tennis shoes
and Ginny dolls. Slumber parties in pink
pajamas, giggling long past midnight.
Now eleven-year-old boys with gangly feet,
awkward hands and whispered mustaches,
sip stolen beer, faking sophistication.
Forget friends forever.
Girls’ minds lured toward the future,
tired of looking at each other,
like looking in a mirror.
Hello catty remarks and competition,
welcome to the world of adolescence.
Hello stuffed bras and belly shirts,
notebooks decorated with hearts.
The world of abbreviated children.
I found a Ginny doll on eBay, vintage 1950.
Nothing like today’s boobed Barbie dolls
with racy dresses and plenty of Kens to keep
them company. Barbies with convertible cars,
campers, scooters and DreamHouses
with party rooms and swimming pools.
I bought the Ginny doll for my granddaughter
who just turned ten. I hope she plays with it
for a few more years, ormay easryay,
before she tosses it aside.
Claire Scott is an award winning poet who has received multiple Pushcart Prize nominations. Her work has appeared in the Atlanta Review, Bellevue Literary Review, New Ohio Review, Enizagam and Healing Muse among others. Claire is the author of Waiting to be Called and Until I Couldn’t.