Families logo

My First Doll

A Fiskars Story

By Melia RaharjoPublished 3 years ago 5 min read
1
The middle doll is the original doll

My three brothers and I grew up in Central Java, Indonesia.I was the third child, and we were all two years apart. My parents would only buy toys that all of us would play with, and those toys were for all of us together. We had army toys, matchbox cars, marbles , kites…. but we never had a doll.

One day, during my summer break, an older cousin invited me to her house where she taught a bunch of women how to crochet. As a twelv-year-old girl , I was the youngest and had no interest whatsoever in joining them. However, my cousin showed me this little doll that she created with two braids, it wore a pretty dress and a hat that looks like a bonnet. I was instantly interested in that doll. My cousin told me she could teach me how to make it.

I was determined to make a doll just like my cousin’s , for myself. She would be my doll. My cousin grabbed a crochet hook, a pair of scissors and some yarn. She started by showing me how to make all the simple stitches. She taugh me how to make the body, the head, the arms, the legs and the dress. After all the pieces were ready, I put them together. Then with a pair of sharp scissors we cut the yarn into the same length to make the hair. I braided the hair then using the scissors again, I cut the the tip of the two braids to make them into equal length. After much trial and error , my doll was finally done. I couldn’t be happier with her. She was my friend, my sister, my creation and I loved her so much.

Two years later, a doctor diagnosed my mom with breast cancer, I spent my teenage years by her side, in and out of the hospital. I remember those years as an angry and depressed teenager. I was jealous of all the other kids who did not have to worry about taking care of their mothers. I had no one to talk to. No other kids understood what I was going through. No one asked me if I was okay, if I was sad or scared. But I also felt selfish when I cried or got angry, because I was not the sick one in the family. My mom had cancer, not me. I needed to put all my thoughts and energy into caring for her. She was the one suffering. She was the one dying, I had to care for her and not just thinking about my own selfish needs. I spent those years of my youth feeling so sad, angry and ashamed. My mom passed away after seven years of fighting this evil.

I completely forgot about my crocheting, about my doll. I moved on with my life. I left my country to start a new life in the USA with my husband and daughter.

When my dad passed away, I went back to my house in Indonesia and cleaned his old bedroom. I found my crocheted doll In one of his drawers. There she was, the doll that I made as a twelve-year-old, sitting there after all of these years. My father had been taking good care of her or she had been there keeping him company after I left him. I took my doll with me back to the US.

My daughter started college and began volunteering as a counselor at a summer camp for children affected by a parent’s cancer.The organization, Camp Kesemp, help campers cope after one of their family members suffers or passes away from an illness. The counselors offer a time and place for kids, each year, to share and express their emotions. The children understand and support one another, like no one else can, because they endure similar trauma.

Every child attends this camp for free. The volunteer counselor raise money all year long to fully finance Kesem. My daughter did this for the duration of her time in college.

Reuiniting with my crocheted doll gave me an idea. I had not crocheted since I first made her as a twelve-year-old. I looked at the doll and wondered if I could recreate her. I picked up my crochet hook and I bought some yarn. Step by step, I figured it out. I grabbed scissors (Fiskars brand of course), and snipped and coiled yarn like my older cousin taught me long ago. I made the body, the dress and the bonnet. I then snipped and braided more yarn to make the hair. I created another doll exactly like the one from my childhood. I made one, two, three. I made so many of them. I could not believe I was able to do it again. Friends and coworkers saw me making my dolls and asked if they could buy them from me. I decided to give away my dolls and asked the recipients to please make a donation, to Camp Kesem. I was so happy to make these dolls and support my daughter’s organization at the same time.

I like to think about the joy that my dolls bring to the kids who receive them. I imagine, while crocheting the face of the children who receives the doll. How happy and excited will they be? How much time will they spend with the doll? Maybe they will play and bring the doll wherever they go.

Being able to send donation money to my daughter’s organization brings me joy as well. I am comforated that thes campers have a safe place to express their grief and share their experiences without feeling guilty or ashamed.

My doll, my happy place, you make me happy when I am making you. You bring joy to the children who receive and care for you. You also bring comfort, indirectly to children and teenager who are going through tough time due to cancer.

art
1

About the Creator

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.