After my mother’s second presentation at school, the English teacher, Jessica Lahey, asked if she planned on writing a book. Modest as ever my mom said “no.” Speaking publicly was hard enough. Writing was not a task she planned on. Then one of the teachers (honestly now I am not sure if it was Jessica or Jean Behnke or someone else) suggested that someone needs to write a children’s book from my mother’s doll’s point of view.
A book for children from the doll’s point of view! Wow! What an idea! That was all I needed. A place to start. I tried to imagine what the doll saw. My mom had the doll in the camps. She told me that she kept it with her the whole time, so it would have seen everything. The doll could tell the story with less emotion and the doll could tell what the children were like. In my mind I started to write the book. Then the next question from the audience stopped me dead in my tracks.
“What was the doll’s name?”
My mother answered, “I don’t know. I can’t remember.”
This was going to be harder than I thought.