Dear Old Friend,

It’s been a while. I confess that for years, I turned my back on you. We grew up together, playing with Susie, the girl down the street. One day I just drifted away, and I never said goodbye. I don’t think either one of us knew how long it would be until we crossed paths again. Worse yet, even when you reached out, I limited your contact with my children, particularly my daughters. And even though as I grew up, I spent countless hours enjoying your company, I first cut you off cold, then demonized your name.

I am sorry. I listened to the rumors others spread about you. Believed when they said you were a bad influence, believed when they said you were responsible for a host of evils. It was so easy to buy into their rhetoric about unhealthy lifestyles. With that gorgeous Malibu tan and sun-bleached hair, you were the antithesis of sunscreen. But was it really you who persuaded me that using baby oil and iodine to tan was a good idea? Or would I have ended up with that bubbly bikini burn anyway? Without you, would I have still poured peroxide on my hairbrush hoping to be blonder? Now that I have done so many stupid things without your influence, I know the truth.

Did I go overboard when I kept my children from you? Would your love of fashion and accessories have turned them into material girls? Because of my prejudice against you, did my children suffer from my decided lack of girliness? Would they have been any less independent if I had been less critical of you? Well, that’s a silly thought, I think their genetics may have played a role in that trait.

So, Barbie, old pal, I apologize. When you made your big screen debut, I didn’t rush to opening night. It took a month and many strangers’ persuasions to see your movie. By then I had heard enough to know it was time to mend our fences. Fortunately, I was able to convince my friend Debbie to go with me. I hope you weren’t offended when she spent the two hours ga-ga over Ryan Gosling. To be fair, she gave him more attention than you ever gave Ken, though hopefully not more than she gives Randy, her husband.

During the movie, I was happy to see so many details were spot on. Your feet in a permanent tiptoe, the too-small convertible, the profusion of pink. And if your message was a little heavy-handed, well that’s fitting, too. Between your glamour, accessories, and figure, there never was much subtle about you.

I will admit that a bit of my experience was missing. But I guess it wouldn’t have fit the storyline to have a Barbie shanty town, where kids like me used tissue and shoe boxes to construct our dream houses. Visually ugly, but with a dash of imagination these structures could be refigured into an infinite array of mansions. Likewise, we fashioned outfits out of fabric scraps and hair ties. These weren’t the glamorous clothes you featured, but honestly, these simple frocks never stopped us from sending you on endless adventures and honorable pursuits.

And I guess that’s the point. Despite outfits, despite accessories, despite companions, ultimately Barbie, you became whoever the child made you. That’s the way it should be. There’s a line in your movie given to your inventor, Ruth Handler. “We mothers stand still so our daughters can look back and see how far they have come.” I guess as women of a certain age, we both can appreciate that line. You with your many versions that evolved with the times, me with maturing daughters who amaze me at every turn.

So, Barbie, I apologize, in listening to others, I forgot the hours you inspired dreams, not just play. Beyond the plastic, beyond the artifice, beyond the glitz, you were the vehicle to imagine a different grown-up life. For that gift, my childhood friend, I am grateful.

P.S., I do have one lingering complaint. You’re eight years older than me … how do you look so good?

Oh yeah, dare I say, plastic surgery?