Nostalgia

The other night, my sister and I were talking about the various Air Force ceremonies we’d attended with our father growing up (because of Mac’s graduation). She and I distinctly recall Daddy’s promotion ceremony to Lieutenant Colonel. We rocked super stylish matching navy velour dresses. We wore them a few months later at our grandparents’ 50th wedding anniversary (Mac proposed on December 5, 2010, what would have been their 66th anniversary). I vividly remember the fact that we wore white tights with little presents stitched on them (since it was near Christmas and all) and that these tights itched like a mother. I also told her that I was super jealous of her stick-on earrings, that I had stolen a pair, and that the earrings, in the grand irony of life, refused to stick to my ears.

This evolved into a discussion of the essential tenet to big sister / young sister relationships (where the sisters are close in age): jealousy. I grew up eternally jealous of everything Leslie did, not because I wanted to or was interested, but because she got to do it and I wanted to be like her. My younger sister jealousy reached its zenith when Leslie’s godfather bought her an American Girl doll (Samantha). I got a stuffed manatee (they lived in the Orlando area), and I was pissed.

To save their sanity, my parents bought me my own American Girl doll. I had an existential crisis choosing between Kirsten (who kind of looked like me) and Felicity (who lived in Colonial Williamsburg. Umm, hello, yes). I chose Kirsten and then cried.

For several years, my parents were lucky that I meticulously cataloged my Christmas list: I would record the magazine page, item, and price and even tallied up the total damage (and was then shocked when my parents didn’t spend $5000 buying me every single item in the American Girl doll catalog). But I remember this outfit.

Back in the day (and maybe still in the day now?), you could buy matching outfits for you and your doll. I just had to have this super cool plaid walking cape with faux fur muff and hat. I’m pretty sure I harassed my parents about it for weeks, and (not) surprisingly, they didn’t want to shell out $300 for capes for my doll and me. Oh, the tragedies of youth.

And how cool would I have been? Who else remembers making ridiculous Christmas lists?