Growing up, Kim and I were not the only little ones in the family. We had competition from a life-sized doll. The family named her Colleen.

Colleen was about three feet tall and made of plastic. She had a fairly realistic baby girl face, and long brown hair that went past her shoulders.

Colleen had been a gift to my grandmother Edna, from a friend on the occassion of the birth of her grandaughter, Kimberly.

Most of the time, Colleen just sat silently in a chair in the corner of our bedroom in Poppy’s house. Occasionally, she would be trotted out to show to company as if she were the third child.

Send in the Clowns

One little toy I used to enjoy between the ages of six and eight was a merry little chap that me and Kim dubbed “Clownie”. Always smiling, always happy.

In the beginning, when he was still working as Patootie the Clown, he had spoken. I only ever knew Patootie by his later slave name, Clownie. By the time I remember him, he was a bit of a broken man: his speaking pullstring had broken off, leaving his voice forever hidden inside the box in his chest. Someone had apparently also stolen all his fine circus clothes and accessories.

Why does every kid’s doll lose its clothes? Life can be so cruel.

Where are they now?

The last time I saw Clownie was in 1974, when we were living in Langley. Still in his red long-johns, he’d developed a tear in his rear end, threatening the loss of some stuffing. A kind local babysitter sewed him up for us. I have no idea what became of him after that.

Colleen managed to stay in the family, going to my brother in Port McNeill for a few years. Colleen was later reunited with my sister and has followed her around Vancouver Island ever since.

The last time I saw Colleen, she was barefoot and dressed in a long red wool sweater, but my sister has reassured me that she’s well cared for, and wearing a lovely little dress.