A Toy Story

Opening weekend for Toy Story 3 was a trip down memory lane for me as I sat watching one of the best movies we have seen in a long time. We made a very cute family of five, as we sat in our 3-D glasses that ranged in sizes from small to large, if I do say so myself.


When “Great Shape” Barbie made her appearance I experienced one of those, “Oh crap!” light bulb moments. “Oh crap! I used to have one of those. What happened to her? Oh yeah…that’s what happened to her.”

After my mom became more and more familiar and supportive of The Movement, things began to change for me in very drastic ways. As my mom became intimate friends with other homeschooling mothers, she began to implement legalism and fundamentalism into our everyday lives. The legalism and fundamentalism at least in my Movement upbringing, replaced education on every front. It permeated our home and it permeated my childhood from a very early age. It was a way of becoming more holy, and the more self-denial there was in the home, the more holy and godly your family was viewed. This is where my mom got her sense of self-worth. I see this now as emotional unhealth that was never dealt with that manifested itself in co-dependency and extreme low self-esteem, and it affected me in very real ways.

We moved from a tiny farming community where both sides of my extended family lived into a large midwestern city because my dad was seeking employment. When we settled here in the metropolis, I brought with me several remnants from my former life: Collections of toys that I had accumulated from my grandparents for birthdays and Christmas. My parents never had money, my dad’s pornography addiction continued to rob our family of having a financial future, even to this day. So all toys that I had came from my grandparents because my parents were always floating in massive debt.

Once we started homeschooling, pieces of my toy collection started to disappear. They didn’t disappear without my knowledge, but with my mom sitting side by side with me on the floor or bed, sorting. The first collection to be scrutinized was my Barbie dolls. Fearful that dressing my Barbies in formal gowns, fancy skirts, and high heels would influence me to become promiscuous in later years, the clothes were gotten rid of first and then the dolls. My “Get in Shape” Barbie was a part of the box of toys that were donated to Goodwill (her leotard was too immodest and tight fitting and her leg warmers were “worldly”). I was allowed to keep the Heart Family, because they “were a mom and a dad” but my Ken dolls and any blonde-haired beauty were discarded. My one Skipper doll I was allowed to keep, because I fought so hard to keep her. I was in tears. I wasn’t over the age of eight and already my world was coming down around me.

I remember sitting on my daybed with my mom supervising the whole charade with an undercurrent of self-righteous piety, as though what she was doing God had asked her to do, “for the sake of The Movement.” Her little girl, tears streaming down her face, was being forced to part with much loved dolls that had been gifted to her by loving Grandmas and Aunts. Begging, pleading I needed answers. Why did I have to part with my Barbies? My collection was far from extensive, but what I had I loved. And I didn’t understand the sudden change. Why were they OK yesterday, or last week, but now they weren’t?

The answers that came back were haunting in their spiritualism and legality. They were unfeeling, lacking both in understanding and compassion on what this would do to the girl’s developing psyche. My mother proceeded to inform me that the Barbie doll was originally created for men to lust after, a sex toy. Yet we had no prior conversations about sexual development so this was vague and bizarre to me. She proceeded to inform me that Barbies were immoral and unspiritual. They “trained little girls to be immodest” were some of the words that she used. And with that, the ransacked collection was whisked away, loaded in the car, and donated.

This was the first of many instances that were no less devastating. I was left sitting on my bed, holding five “acceptable” dolls and no clothes for them except the one outfit that they were wearing. Tears and more tears. This was so devastating to me, and I was so upset, that I remember my mom taking me to Wal-Mart to pick out a pattern for Barbie doll clothes. She promised we would make some so that at least my dolls would have something to wear, after revamping the patterns she said to “be more modest.” She never delivered and she left me feeling like she was the last person on earth who had my best interests at heart.

After the initial Barbie purge, my mom developed a strong sense of power over my toys and playtime. Christmas lists and birthday gifts were highly scrutinized and had to be approved through her filter of godliness, lest some worldly influence contaminate me and force me to become a part of the broader culture. Her newfound sense of power and control led her to rid My Little Pony collection of all unicorns, my Rainbow Brite dolls were given away, and so were my Care Bears. Her reasoning? They were full of “demonic spirits.”

Sigh. To this day she has yet to understand the pain that this caused our relationship and me. This taught me one very powerful lesson: never let your guard down and never trust your mother. It was like I never knew when the other shoe would drop and I grew up terrified that something I would become attached to would suddenly disappear for an inconspicuous reason and a reason that never made sense.

If one is honest, the fear of contamination and your child being sucked in by popular culture is rampant. They have a deep-set fear of “the world.” They repeat to themselves the mantra of Jesus, “Be in the world but not of it.” Ugh. Their stupidity gives me a headache! Does not Christ say, “Be IN the world?” Not living as aliens but be IN the world? You must understand the world in order for your life to shine. Not being “of” the world refers to not being a son of the Prince of Darkness. Being a child of light, shining brightly in a world that needs hope. Not keeping your light under a bushel (behind closed doors in your own homes, in your home churches, and staying out of your communities and schools).

Movement parents tell themselves that by allowing their child to have Barbies, Bratz dolls, Pokemons, Bakugans, that their children will become influenced by the powers of the devil. So their kids have toys that fundamentalists have created, like this company did for boys and girls (you should read these descriptions, they make your stomach churn). And their extended families look at these kids who are dominated by a spirit of fear and scratch their heads and wonder if those kids really have a happy childhood that is carefree. How can they when the weight of the world is dropped on their young frame? They live in fear of demons!

Any person in their right mind can see how ridiculously laughable the idea is that a plaything would cause your child to become an immoral individual. I just wish that The Movement homeschoolers had the brain to understand it themselves.

And as for me, my next trip to Wal-Mart will be to purchase this.