American Girls.

I imagine any woman who is in her early to mid 30's knows about American Girl Dolls.  (As do our mothers and grandmothers, since they most likely had to listen to our obsessions back in the late 1980s and early 1990s.)  Never mind that it was more than 25 years ago,I can still clearly see myself flipping through the very first catalogue for the American Girl company when it arrived in our mailbox.  I was about 8 or 9 years old, and I spent the evenings pouring over the descriptions of the three (the initial, original three!) dolls available, trying to decide which one was my favorite:  Kirsten, Samantha, or Molly.

My grandmother gave me Molly that Christmas; I remember opening the box that cold December morning delighted to see her - my very own American Girl doll! - and oohing and aahing with both my mother and grandmother over her perfect pigtail braids, her argyle sweater and navy blue wool A-line skirt, and falling in love with her perfect wire glasses.  I had a lot of dolls as a kid but Molly became an instant favorite.  While I would eventually be lucky enough to also own (and love) Samantha, Kirsten, and then later, when the company expanded their offerings to include red-headed, Colonial era Felicity, and finally, Addy, I always had an extra special spot in my heart for Molly.  She was the first and therefor the unspoken "leader" of my doll collection.

Eventually, of course, I outgrew my American Girl doll obsession.  I traded their clothes and books and accessories for my own accessories and fashion obsessions and make-up and middle school dances and innocent crushes on boys. My dolls currently sit in my Mom's basement, where they are boxed away in their original outfits, eyes closed shut.  I like to imagine that they are patiently waiting for the day that I dig them out again, dust them off, and lift them out of those crimson colored cardboard boxes, ready to be passed along to another little girl, whoever she may be.

Every year in December, my company pairs up with a local school for a holiday angels program. The program is designed to provide gifts and holiday cheer for students with challenging needs in Boston. We never meet the students; we're simply given the opportunity to sign up for one and told their first name, age, and suggested gift items or wishes the child might have expressed for Christmas.  I've always participated, usually picking a child who had a specific wish like a basketball or Lego's or a paint set rather than just a request for a gift card.  (Because where is the fun in that?)

This year, when the announcement went out about signing up for the program again, I walked upstairs with a co-worker to peruse the wish list.  As soon as I saw the listing for the little girl, aged 9, who requested "anything American Girl related" I knew I'd found my match.  Back down at my desk, I took a look at the American Girl's website.  It had obviously been quite some time since I'd done any price shopping at American Girl and I will admit to a bit of sticker shock upon first glance.  (Turns out even the price of a doll will go up after 20+ years.)  I looked at a few options for my holiday angel, comparing different American Girl book collections about the dolls or various outfit sets.  But I kept coming back to the actual doll.  Sure, it wasn't the cheapest idea, but really? I could swing it simply by cutting back on a few dinners out with friends this month. Easy-peasy.  I just kept thinking of this little, anonymous, 9 year old girl, whose one wish for Christmas was anything related to American Girl dolls.  I remembered how excited I was that Christmas morning so many years ago when I, a child who was fortunate enough to grow up in a safe, loving, upper middle class family who had parents and a grandmother who could afford to give me the doll I wanted, and it nearly broke my heart to imagine a little girl out there, whose own heart was set on her very own American Girl doll, and her family - whatever their circumstances might be - not being able to give her one.

Suddenly, purchasing that doll became the easiest decision I have ever made.

I know there are a thousand other girls out there who covet those dolls just as much as this little nine year old and I wish I knew a way to get one to each and every single one of them this Christmas.  Maybe one day, if I ever strike it rich, I'll be able to do just that.  But until then, I'll think of my anonymous little nine year old in Boston, imagine her being handed that crimson red box wrapped in snowman wrapping paper later this month, and hope she is just as thrilled as I imagine her to be.
This is the season of giving, after all.