It was right around the year 1986, and I'm almost certain that such requests wasn't common for a girl like me: I asked my parents for a Cabbage Patch Doll.
But just not any Cabbage Patch doll.
A chocolate one.
And boy, was this doll loved. I think I may have named her Keshia or Rudy, but I can't say for sure.
Be it "The Cosby Show" or the only dark-skinned boy in my first grade class (he was absolutely adorable in every way), it's hard to pinpoint where this 'chocolate' fascination came from. I grew up in diversity-challenged suburbia, so don't reprimand my six-year-old self for not using politically correct language.
Over Christmas, when it came to finding a baby doll for my own daughter, I didn't bat an eyelash when I found and bought Tiny: the Target-manufactured, brown-eyed, dark-skinned miniature baby doll. The other baby dolls in her company were white babies with blue eyes. All ugly. Where was the diversity? The green eyes? Any freckled noses? None whatsoever. And bless their wee little plastic hearts--they were wearing a purple and pink jumpsuit--a color combination cardinal sin.
Except Tiny. Hers was a tasteful baby blue and pink.
For Indy, it was love at first sight. She snuggles that little black baby doll up to her neck wherever she goes. For one who preferred pushing around trains and cars over toting around stuffed animals and dolls, those feminine genes of hers are kicking in at last.
Chocolate, indeed.
