Dolls at the Dinner Table; The intersectionality of Empathy and Childlike Wonder

*As published in the 2025-2026 edition of [Sic] Literary Magazine

When I was a child, my dolls ate dinner with me. They didn’t really consume anything, of course, but it was the idea of them being hungry and alone that kept me from ever leaving them behind. I was utterly mortified at the thought of my beloved, worn, green rabbit feeling left out or unworthy of the experiences that I was engaging in. My bunny, ‘Knuffle’ as it was named, wore more bandaids throughout my childhood than I did. Every bump received a bandage.

My next door neighbor, a boy by the name of Jacob, was never given dolls. On his birthdays he received toy guns, wrestling figures, and little fighting robots. We spent hours each day playing together, but there was always a distinct difference in both what we wanted to play and the way we went about it. When we would compromise on game choices, we always ended up playing ‘house.’ Or rather, an elaborate game of make-believe, where we’d imagine we were siblings and years older than we were. I distinctly remember the moment that I realized Jacob and I were being raised to assume different traits, certain characteristics and behaviors that we were expected to carry well into adulthood.

I was seven, sitting on the sidewalk in front of my house, rocking a doll. It was late, maybe nine o’clock at night, and Jacob and I had spent the entire summer day outside with one another. I asked Jacob to please hold my doll while I moved my bike, but requested that he please be gentle, that he hold my dear doll in the same manner that I had. He complied, but it was in those short few moments that his father came to pick him up, to walk him home for the night. He saw Jacob holding my doll, the gentleness with which he did so and was immediately angered. He was irate; his face reddened as the seconds ticked by. “Jake,” he said, “Let’s go. Act like a man. Give her the toy. It’s time to go home.” His words were quiet, but cold. My doll was shoved back in my arms with a rushed and embarrassed goodbye. As they walked away I heard his father, a man whom I rarely saw, and never learned the name of, tell him not to be weak. To not act like a girl. Eventually, by the time they left my yard and approached the street, they were out of earshot; but Jacob’s head was still held down as he entered his front door. We played together again the next morning (and many more times in the following year), but Jacob never did hold a doll of mine again; never displayed such a level of softness.

He and I no longer speak. To tell you the truth, it’s been years since I’ve even seen his face. He’s cold now, cruel in a way that as a child, I never believed he could be. He is the man his father hoped he would be, but I don’t believe he became the man that the boy who smiled as he held my doll wanted to be. 

Sometimes I think back to that night and wonder what his father’s life looked like; what, or rather who, taught him that to be kind was an insult to his masculinity. I wonder why, even now, we, as a society, encourage our daughters to care for others from birth, but don’t do the same for our sons. We teach our daughters to treat inanimate dolls with the same dignity we treat fellow human beings with: to give them names, design daily outfits, and host one sided conversations. We, from their birth, express to little girls that empathy is of the utmost importance. And yet, when it comes to our sons, we focus far more on an endless cycle of creation and destruction. Legos and dump trucks, not dolls. We do this in an effort to subconsciously embed specific behaviors in children. Girls tend to develop a ‘maternal instinct’. How could they not after being charged with the care of, for all intents and purposes, a baby? Boys develop a respect for their individual talents and creations, which, in itself, is not inherently wrong. We should have an appreciation for ourselves and our abilities. However, it is when one has that great appreciation and is discouraged, or told it is weak to show empathy or express soft emotions, that issues arise. Issues that we start to identify during adulthood, but by then, the beliefs and behavioral traits that have been developed are so ingrained in our very beings (and communities) that there is a very slim chance of any large change occurring. 

We cannot shame children for displaying specific, unfiltered behaviors and then later criticize the adults that those children became for lacking them! To have an adult society that routinely places value on equity and empathy, we must first cultivate those traits in our children. If we do not teach our sons that it is acceptable to have dolls at the dinner table, how will they learn that our daughters are not weak for soothing a silent cry?