Childhood

Why I’m still a Barbie girl

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It’s Christmas 1985 and I’m hiding under the kitchen table. I’m on a festive ‘snoop’ mission. My parents are terse talking about “Wrapping the bloody Barbie van!”

My heart beats at the anticipation of it. The pièce de résistance of our sister’s Santa list. The fantasy gift of mid 80’s schoolgirls – the outfits, the glam, the moulded plastic bliss.

Flash forward (nearly) 40 years later and I’m watching the end of the Barbie movie in a draughty Devon cinema. Whilst my 10 year old son is ready for the off, I’ve tears in my eyes.

This surprises me. It’s less to do with nostalgia (I’ve no clue what happened to my Barbie collection) but more to do with a cinematic stirring of middle aged heart and mind.

I was banking on it being an above par chick flick. Reviews of the release from indie darlings, Gerwig and Baumbach, had stoked right wing ire in a pleasing way.

As we waited in line, I chortled to see teenies in tutus queuing for a quirky polemic on gender stereotypes, the patriarchy and empty consumerist lives.

And it started like a knickerbocker glory dream of a world. As Barbie woke to a picture perfect day the sea of west country mummies cooed at their charges.

As the screen glowed with Margot Robbie’s megawatt smile I felt my 9 year old self revive on a wave of fun. This was a world where women ‘rule’ and Ken’s ‘crave.’

But as my tweenager squirmed and I snuck Maltesers (Sorry darling – but they’re “lighter than ordinary chocolate”) the celluloid mood changed.

Barbie got sad. Barbie was lost. Barbie started to question EVERYTHING. Defeated she goes in search of the sage but scorned Weird Barbie (played by the awesome Kate McKinnon).

This encounter sets Barbie on a mission through the portal to the ‘real world.’ As she drives into the fake sunset, Ken tags along for the ride. And guess what they find – the real world falls short.

On Earth, women are ground down whilst the men rise high. This is when America Ferrera’s Gloria steals the best speech (snippet below) about society’s patriarchal pressures,

“Always stand out and always be grateful. But never forget that the system is rigged. So find a way to acknowledge that but also always be grateful. You have to never get old, never be rude, never show off, never be selfish, never fall down, never fail, never show fear, never get out of line. It’s too hard! It’s too contradictory and nobody gives you a medal or says thank you! And it turns out in fact that not only are you doing everything wrong, but also everything is your fault.

Gloria, The Barbie Movie 2023

As a Mattel employee, working for Will Ferrell’s chauvinistic CEO, Gloria lays bare the reality of women’s Earth lot v the pie in the sky Barbie world.

But Ken is newly inspired by this ‘men rule’ reality. Returning home he flips Barbie’s pink paradise on its head. Suddenly the girls are catering to the Ken’s every whim.

As Barbie and Gloria buddy up to ‘save the day’ cliches abound. But overall, it was an enjoyable, thought popping ride.

For me, the film delivers a message (for girls and boys) of how, in our pursuit of Insta perfect lives, we’ve lost our way.

Whilst we’ve been distracted by looking good, hooking up and ladder climbing, we’ve been passing up on real, authentic life experiences.

In the end, the message that resonated most is that ‘Weird Barbie,’ with all her idiosyncrasies, is the kinda chick you want to listen to. These mavericks are the life guides that can help us make sense of this crazy world.

“Certainly, there’s a lot of passion. My hope for the movie is that it’s an invitation for everybody to be part of the party and let go of the things that aren’t necessarily serving us as either women or men.”

Greta Gerwig, Director, The Barbie Movie 2023

The importance of nurturing creativity

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I am nurturing creativity in my son. It is a conscious thing. I praise his pencil strokes, his flights of fancy, his creative energy. These are moulding years. Experts say that by the age of 8 a child’s sense of self worth is set. That’s such a crucial span of influence. Why is this not page 1 of all parenting manuals?

My son is a budding artist, a photographer, a dancer. We are yet to see what he shall become. Maybe his work shall fill galleries or maybe he shall set bricks in mortar. Only time shall reveal his path. I care less about awards and titles. I’m more concerned that he’s happy, kind and in touch with his creative self.

Why is creativity so important to me? To me it’s a life-skill and outlet that outshines all others. I’m not simply talking about creativity as an artistic pursuit – although this can bring endless joy. I’m interested in the skills of creative thinking – of imagination, of putting ideas into action, of positive collaboration. I’m focused on creativity as a catalyst for learning, cohesion and lifelong wellbeing.

The late, great educationalist and creativity advocate Sir Ken Robinson advised governments and world leaders on the import of nurturing creativity in young learners. Over 20 years ago, as Chair of the National Advisory Committee on Creative and Cultural Education, he wrote the
All Our Futures:Creativity, Culture and Education report. Inside it he championed a national strategy for creative and cultural education that nurtured the abilities of all young people. Through this he said we would grow skills to narrow socio-economic gaps and boost national prosperity.

A key upshot of this report was the launch of the national Creative Partnerships programme which ran between 2002-2011. Working in areas of deprivation – it built learning links between creative and educational communities. As a Director of the Hull, East Yorkshire and Humber Subregion office I observed the power of creativity to change young lives.

Although this programme was brutally cut by the incoming Coalition government its legacy lives on today. If our Department of Education put creativity at the core of learning I’m sure that our country would be healthier, happier and flourishing.

This is why I celebrate and nurture creativity in my son. This is why, when he wants to share his latest idea I listen. The other day he old me about his vision for a new business – ‘Tree Top Cabins.’ He described in detail an eco-friendly utopia where bosses and workers looked after the planet and each other. He talked of making spaces to learn, work and play. I listened to his flow of creative thoughts – his face lit by possibility.

Maybe years down the line, he shall make this a reality. If so, I hope I’m around to see it. Either way, I’m committed to ensuring he continues to make space in his life to be and think creatively. I see it as my duty as a parent to ensure he can express this side of himself.

In our increasingly volatile world I believe that creativity should be a core part of our young peoples survival toolkits. As we face the uncertainties of 21st century life our ability to envision a new direction, to paint to collaborate or sing our hearts out may just unlock a brighter future.

The last Santa Christmas

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I think he’s rumbled us – our 8 year old super sleuth. His heart yearns for Santa but his head is full of doubts.

Its Christmas Day eve – I’m in the hallway delaying the dogs last pee. I shiver at the sight of frosty windscreens. I hear him quizzing upstairs, “it’s just you and mum isn’t it?” The dad’s reply is swift and sure but can it persuade the son?

The debunking of Santa is heartbreaking for every child. I was in the first year of Heavitree Middle – a smirking cad burst my festive bubble. I remember feeling gutted at first; it was wondrous while it lasted.

There’s a loss of innocence when the myth explodes. I ponder this as the dog tugs me across grass. Suddenly I feel sad – like the too blue lights twinkling from trees. The years go fast my boy is growing.

I wonder if I’ve savoured these Santa years enough. The joy of hanging stockings – of charting his sleigh across the globe. Guiltily I fear I haven’t. Too eager to get back to my book or the mindless scrolling of the phone.

In that moment I am sad at my complacency. But it’s no use – I’ve done my best. I can’t go back or freeze time. My boy with a quick mind and quicker feet won’t stop still.

He’s already straining at the reins. It is not my job to hold him fast. I am here to help him grow – to find himself. As much as we’d like to keep our children small they are preparing to fly from the off.

Losing Santa doesn’t mean magic is over. Even as adults we seek wonder – the tingle of anticipation. Whether waiting for a film to start or the first bars of a familiar song – nostalgia wraps us like a still warm bed.

But this is likely the last Santa Christmas. Our junior detective has sprung our con. The Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy stand anxiously by. As we box the decs and stockings I shall shed a little tear. But we’ll always make room for magic – for a little sparkle turns a grey day bright.

The memory of touch

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I have a memory of a cool banister, under my hand. The ridges of wallpaper, at the top of the stair. The tiled sills, cool to touch. The good sofa, smooth with piped edges. The stones in the box, inlaid with shell. The click of the light – on / off.

I am awake-dreaming. I am recalling the memory of a red brick house which was once my home. This remembrance is not just in my head – its trace flows to the tips of my fingers.

What magic is this? How can I recall these nooks of a place, 12 years on? It seems our sense of touch or haptic memory is more enduring than first realised.

Studies suggest that, moments of touch – the memory of an object – it’s dimensions and texture, can last long after that point of contact.

This fascinates me. As humans we hold onto certain memories like a raft sometimes. Whilst remembrance can be selective, looking back can help us understand our past and face our futures.

In a year when we’ve been kept from loved ones, it makes sense for us to hark back. Covid has raised our present and past senses. At times, a flood of feeling has knocked us sideways. Maybe this is catharsis of sorts? Out of control, we’re anchored by memory points; our nostalgia soothes us.

Then I get to thinking, what of those fallen by dementia? The loss of memory in times like these is all the more cruel. The half familiar faces crowding at the door way, unable to come close.

Whilst true, haptic memory is more elusive in dementia patients, scientists have found peripheral tactile stimulation impacts visual and verbal memory. It seems that ‘touch’ remains a powerful, enriching sense.

So, my retracing of steps makes all the more sense right now. Whatever our state of health or mind, the anchors of memory can hold us.

I have a memory of a cool banister, under my hand. The ridges of wallpaper, at the top of the stair. I visit there from time to time, it reminds me of where I come from.