Raggedy Ann and the Halloween Party

When I was a very little girl, I lived with my mom and dad and two beautiful younger sisters, in a large apartment complex called Naylor Gardens. I'm told the place still exists today as a condominium in DC. Every year, the apartment association would throw a Halloween party for us kids complete with a costume parade and prizes for the best costumes. This particular year, mother decided to make our costumes. For my baby sister she made a sparkly fairy princess costume with a crown and a magic wand. For my middle sister, she gathered Fall leaves from outside and made her a dress and

a hat out of them and called her the Queen of Autumn. Me, she made a Raggedy Anne costume with bloomers and a rag mop wig she dyed red. I was not pleased. Raggedy Anne? No that didn't fit! Why, I was Snow White or Sleeping Beauty or Rapunzel. Well, maybe Rapunzel was a stretch. But a rag doll? It just didn't fit!

There were other things that just didn't fit – like names. My baby sister with her Shirley Temple curls and angelic little fat face was called, Susie. “If you knew Susie like I know Susie” oh what a name. Cute, perky, fun to say. And there was Bobbie Jean. What a pretty name for my middle sister, Bobbie Jean the dancing queen. They just named me, Betty. The only thing you can do with that name is change the spelling.

So, Halloween came along and we all went to the party. Susie, the Fairy Princess, walked across the stage, blew a kiss to the audience and won first prize in her age group. Bobbie Jean, the Queen of Autumn, walked across the stage, waved to the audience and won first prize in her age group. Me and Raggedy Ann walked across the stage and won – nothing! Of course not. How does a rag doll compete with queens and princesses and angels for heavens sake? How? My dad tried to smooth it over. He kept saying, “Honey you would have won but the judges couldn't give all the prizes to one family.” Oh, yes they could! That wasn't it! You couldn't fool me. I was eight years old and my heart was broken. A rag doll. I just couldn't get over it. A rag doll.

I spent a lot of years getting the image of Raggedy Anne out of my soul, years finding my self esteem, years learning to believe in me – not her. It took me half a lifetime to come to terms with who I really was, to let her go, to truly become me. I never was a rag doll. I just didn't know that for a very long time.

Then, this past Christmas, I was in a shopping mall with Susie, the Fairy Princess and in a shop window we saw a Raggedy Ann doll. Why, she was adorable – happy little face – big smile – and arms that reached out to hug me! We reunited. Every once in a while I remember all we went through together becoming me. It's okay to be Raggedy Ann. Just maybe not when you're eight years old..

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