Memory Lane Monday: Troll Mates

Growing up in a family where my only brother was a basketball star and my dad's hunting/fishing/drinking buddy, I didn't find it appropriate to ask for Barbies. But I did make up for lost time at my cousins' house in Bountiful, probably much to their bore. Like a fat kid at a pastry buffet, I had to stockpile my Barbie time to get me through the dry spells. Luckily, blocks and Matchbox cars kept me entertained until I returned to the glory of the miniature fashions, the be-spackled Barbie motorhome and the teal '57 Chevy.

I did, however, try to abide my Barbie longing by, shall we say, more gender-neutral substitutes. Like Trolls (insert laughter sound byte here). I was a fairly worldly child-- interested in other cultures, languages and, of course, ethnic costume. So when I started collecting Around the World Trolls (to loosely correspond to my rival collection of mini flags of many nations), I found the perfect symbolic fusion of diversity and unisexual normalcy (again with the sound byte).

I kind of repressed, er, forgot about my 15 trolls that I shoved in a shoe box and buried in the closet when I hit junior high. This was until mother dropped off my Rubbermaid-encased childhood a few weeks ago (her 6-bedroom, childless home just didn't have room). I was pruning the excess memorabilia yesterday and there they were. I adorned the box with colored markers, listing each Troll's origin, lest I forget.

As I was finishing up my organizing, The Olympic closing ceremony was just beginning upstairs. Paul and I clocked in some record Olympic viewing this year (we calculated it at around 40 total hours), and I thought, "What a fitting tribute to a briefly unified world celebrating our similarities. Here I am, 15 years later on the other side of shame...that's it, you're making your comeback, Trollies!"

I headed upstairs and staged the Trolls atop our wine cabinet. I had to do a little primping, but the Trolls were essentially in mint condition. Paul and Billy walked in just as I was putting the finishing touch on placements, and of course found another source of mockery which I clearly anticipated and totally welcomed.


But I can take it now. My Trolls were, are and always will be with me. They've weathered shame, denial and outright neglect. But they'll always be in that shoe box (I put them back before bed) with a friendly smirk, over-processed and extremely dry hair and their trademark jewel bellies.

And that comforts me.