In the '60s, my dolls were an extension of who I was, and I loved them unconditionally, although none of them looked like me. I didn't share their blue eyes, blond hair, and keen features. I was brown-skinned and had a round face with bright brown eyes, a button nose, and full lips. My coarse black hair was corn rowed with rubber bands on the ends. But I cared for my dolls just as my mother did me. I washed their hair with Pearl shampoo, combed and plaited it into braids, greased their scalps with Dixie Peach hair grease, and scorched their hair using a hot straightening comb. During our tea parties, I treated them to cookies, grits, eggs, greens, and corn bread.