Oh, how I've always loved American Girl dolls. Ever since the age of eight I've had at least one in my company. There was Molly first. She lived during World War II. I wanted her, because like me, she wore glasses. My mother got me her because my father was also in the military and was away for periods at a time. She was my only present that Christmas. For my family was not the wealthiest in town and could not afford such extravegant gifts. Next year I asked for Kit. She lived during the Depression. I wanted her because my hair was also short and blond. My mother got me her because, like her, I had a knack for writing. Kit inspired my love even further. And last came Kaya. She was a Nez Perce before whites even came to America. I wanted her because... in my heart I have always had a Native American's soul. My mother got me her because she saw that same quality within me. And with these three girls in hand I lived out my childhood. Each one placing a certain something in my soul, inspiring me through their stories. They didn't have extra outfits, accessories, or other expensive goods. Rather, they forced my imagination to run wild and my creativity to explore. My collection has grown since then, just as my imagination and creativity has. Eleven years later and simple qualities like that of myself have not changed. Sometimes I'm grateful for my innocence. And sometimes I'm grateful for the three dolls that take me back to such a time.
