As part of ‘Sex Education’, nearly 87% of public middle and high schools have special infant simulation dolls that teach girls how to care for babies. While more instructive than the curse laden Teen Moms reality shows, these virtual reality dolls cannot replace the enduring benefits of young girls playing with baby dolls at an early age. Infant simulators teach girls to avoid motherhood by reducing maternity to a list of do’s and don’ts rather than highlighting the joy of womanhood. Intelligent play can address this deficit.
Before the days of cell phones or even cable television, kids played. Young people rode bikes without helmets. They ran barefooted on gravel. The world was something raw and dangerous to discover, not distilled and pasteurized like a traveling nature exhibit at the local library. Play was spontaneous and unplanned. No “Mommy and Me”, no play dates or the ludicrous idea of ‘structured play’ existed in those days. It had a profound effect.
Today’s reasonable, mature woman that respects herself, her body and men is 98% more likely to have engaged in positive doll play as a young girl. Playing with dolls is a rehearsal for real life as a woman. For girls this means not only learning how to care for babies, but how those duties dictate a woman’s role in society. Perhaps girls can learn a thing or two and reconnect with this tried and true character building experience instead of taking ‘Sex Education’ classes that are driven to usurp her Godly womanly charisma with a ‘to do list’.
Three Injuns, Five Pioneer Women and 25 Babies in a Covered Wagon
Perhaps due to the popularity of the Laura Ingells Wilder “Little House on the Prairie” books, my sister Bridget Lynn, five of our cousins, me and a neighbor girl would all re-enact pioneer old west scenarios in my Aunt’s yard. While a passing adult might see chaotic yard apes, it was in fact a University level course on the female mind, sexual development and childcare.
The yard included a decent patch of mostly clover bordered by a long gravel driveway and fairly sloped wooded hillside. The air there always seemed charged when we played. It wasn’t simply because we were packin’ heat in the form of cap guns that would release an acrid puff of smoke. Our senses, dulled by classrooms and concentrated good behavior, was electrified and enhanced. Even the sunshine had a flavor. Water slurped from the green garden hose was quenching and delicious.
The hillside was littered with old leaves and dead branches that kept the ground moist underneath. It made climbing up slow and slippery (even for the sure footed) and going down fast if a person was to drag a saucer sled or Big Wheel up the hill. The three boys usually took to the hills to plot and scheme the swift demise of ‘the girls camp’. My aunt’s discarded make up made perfect war paint. This left us five pioneer women on our own to setup a base camp and prepare for Injun attacks. The stakes in this game were pretty high.
If caught, we would ‘baptize’ the native heathens in a rain barrel conveniently located away from the prying eyes of any adults. There were always some kind of spidery legged water bug to be found in the barrel which legend stated would eat your eyeballs if you showed any fear. While today’s liberals might smugly shout “waterboarding!” nothing could be further from the truth in practice. The head dunking was a badge of honor for the boys and taught them valuable lessons regarding a woman’s ire and creative vengeance.
We used some old aluminum lawn chairs with ratted webbing, long forked sticks from the woods and some old quilts to make the bonnet ‘cover’ for our covered wagon. We propped these up on the picnic table my uncle made in his wood shop. It was perfect for sheltering the 25 baby dolls in our care.
It was never a topic of discussion, but it certainly was implied that the fathers of these 25 babies met some horrible end at the hands of marauding natives. It was also unclear which babies belonged to which mother. We simply saw each of them as precious and worthy of our fierce and oftentimes eerily coordinated protection. Through play, girls learn instinctively about the special properties of ‘being a girl’ affords – properties like transmitting and receiving messages from the female ovary collective. Unlike twitters, women are factory equipped with message snatchels to send and receive short bursts of information to one another. These are located near the ovaries and behind the storage unit that records every mistake a man ever makes.
While ‘sex education’ classes and most male’s understanding of a woman’s body reject the notion of the uterus as a transmitter of a collective female conscientiousness, through play one readily sees the power of the uterus to drive behaviors of those around them, whether they have a uterus or not. Only by playing with dolls can this ever be fully understood and appreciated.