I have reached the age where the radical music of my youth is now musac, the background noise to ones ride in an elevator. What on earth would hoarse-voiced, liquor-toting Janis Joplin think of Me and Bobby McGee played with a chorus of violins sobbing to a subdued beat?
Yet, that background music is not the only place where my youth has been sanitized, something I discovered recently on a visit to the American Girl store with my eight-year-old granddaughter. Don’t get me wrong. I think the company has a good idea with the notion of placing dolls in the clothes and challenges of certain time periods in our history, and then weaving historical narratives around them.
However……. Have you met Julie? She is the 1970s version of the doll who lives, of course, in San Francisco. It seems that her passion is the environment and the furthering of girls’ rights. Admirable ideas, but not what I remember about the turmoil and upheaval of my seventies: the violent demonstrations, the burning cities, the war in Vietnam, and the assassinations of leading political figures. Julie has the de regueur head band over the long totally straight blond hair ala Mod Squad (if you are not of a certain age don’t ask) which many of my contemporaries achieved by ironing their hair. All of her accessories seem to be in some shade of orange and/or pink, and her bell bottoms are only slightly flared. They even managed to have an egg shaped chair (did you know anyone who owned one of those?) which is declared ‘groovy.’ As Julie might say, ‘Far out.’
One wonders while we live through these current tempestuous times, what the American Girl of the early 2000s will look like when my great –grandchildren stroll into the store. Perhaps she will be named Kendra, and have holes all over her plastic body into which various fake jewels can be placed. She will come with a packet of removable, plastic tattoos, and a legion of scrunchies in various colors. She will have a wardrobe of pajama bottoms, crop tops, stretch pants, and boots and a cell phone permanently attached to her hand. Her family will have had the educational experience of learning to live with an upside down mortgage which only made them stronger and much closer. Such fun! She will fight for equal pay for equal work and win the admiration of her co-workers for her spunk and determination even though nothing will be reflected in her paycheck. She will be ‘woke’ and’ lit.’
Yet in spite of the sanitized history, all I really hope is that these mythical great-grandchildren will have as much fun playing with Kendra as my granddaughter is having playing with her doll. After all maybe history, much as I love it, does not belong in the toy store.