It all started because of Toy Story. What an unlikely place to start a journey that culminated in me preferring to listen to men talk of tales of war than listen to women chat about normal, nice boring things other teenage girls would prefer. But, yes, the story of this history person starts with Toy Story.
Like many families, my family got caught up in the Toy Story merchandise craze. My little brother had Buzz, Woody, Rex, Slinky, Mr. Potato Head, etc. on down the line. And I, desiring to be thorough, donated my Raggedy Andy doll to the mix because you need Andy if you're going to play Toy Story. But something was missing: Andy's little sister.
So I told my parents we needed Molly. All I meant was we needed a doll I could name Molly, so we could have all the Toy Story characters. In my six- or- seven-year-old mind, this was a logical request. Next time we went to Toys R Us, we could get a Molly.
Instead, my mom came up with something better. She reminded me how my friends (who were older than me) had American Girl dolls, and she somehow knew one of those dolls was named Molly. I already had received a copy of Meet Samantha from a pen pal in America, so we did what one had to do back in the days of dial up connection and snail mail catalogs: we tore out the order form and requested Pleasant Company to send us our catalog in the mail.
The day it came, and for many days and months afterward, I spent hours pouring over that catalog and the catalogs that followed. But I always came back to Molly. This was my dream doll. My mom kept trying to redirect me to Kirsten because Kirsten looked like me. But, no, I insisted I had to have Molly. And all the books. But for a doll, I needed Molly.
I saved up all my money for Christmas. Every dollar that ever got sent to me, I turned right over to my parents saying it was for Molly. Two dollars here, five dollars there. I doubt I really raised most of the $80 it took to purchase her, but Christmas morning, I opened up my Molly doll--the most precious doll of my life. And, furthermore, as I began reading through her books, I became slowly immersed in the era of World War II.
Granted, as I said, I'd already read Samantha. But I didn't have a Samantha doll. I had Molly. So it is not Samantha's fault I was gradually sucked into the world of history. It was Molly's. World War II became the most important event in the history of ever, and as I read more American Girl books, things only got crazier as I began to ask questions like, "Is anyone still alive from the Civil War?" (If people were still alive from World War II, then why couldn't people be alive from another one of the wars I'd learned about?)
Historical fiction became my favorite genre, although history was not my favorite subject in elementary school. I much preferred reading. History was okay, but it was little more than a footnote in my school day.
And then came junior high.
I flicked on my Bob Jones HomeSat videotape and within days found myself in love with my history teacher Mrs. Fagan. Until college, no other history teacher managed to get me that invested in my history class. No other teacher through twelfth grade could ever compare. But after her, the teacher wasn't necessary. I was hooked. History gradually overtook reading as my favorite subject as I found myself enjoying, dare I say yearning, to learn more and more about this wonderful world. The past drew me in like a fisherman with a hook. I took in my lessons like a sponge.
My parents only encouraged me, especially my dad, who watched History Channel with me and introduced me to World War II films. I was enamored with the past in a way that only other history people would understand. I found myself more comfortable in a discussion about history than yet another boring conversation about whatever it is women talk about. Honestly, half the things we women talk about when we're together is so boring, I forget it all. But tell me a story of history, and although I may not remember our exact conversation, I will remember it was fascinating and intellectually stimulating.
And then came age sixteen where I read the Cheney Duvall series, and I found myself drawn into the world of Reconstruction and thus the Civil War. And that was the final blow. At this point, I became a full blown history person. I have remained a Civil War buff to this day.
In college, I found myself once again with an amazing history teacher, which turned into an amazing series of history teachers after I applied for a history minor. Now I was no longer someone who liked history. I could legitimately carry the title of history person. I could go to the history movie nights and had legitimate reasons to make history references all day long if I wanted.
And now I find myself teaching history for half of my school day. It is a wonderful job, and oddly enough, I may not have been fascinated with the subject I am if someone at Pixar hadn't decided to name one minor character in a movie Molly.
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