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For the fourth time in a week, I've found myself waiting outside the oversized doors of American Girl Place. This time it's 8:40 a.m. on a Saturday. In a piercing Chicago wind tunnel. With the swirling movement that accompanies slow-motion flashbacks, 80 young girls stir around me wearing velvet dresses, colored tights and patent leather party shoes. Their small arms clutch, on one side, their mothers' arms and, on the other—with closer attention and care—their tiny dolls' hands. Written by Elizabeth Ecker. Originally published January 2008, Midwest Current |
