What about Ken?

I read a memoir once (I think it was Carol Burnett’s) — where the writer recalled playing Barbie with her friends. Apparently the Ken doll got to kiss Barbie goodbye and head off for work with a quick toss under the bed. He would remain there while Barbie and her pals went about their day having fashion shows and tea parties (as most women do). The girls didn’t know what else to do with Ken, anymore than they had a clue about what their fathers did after they left for work in the morning.

This scenario really struck a chord wth me when I read it. I never had the foggiest idea what my dad actually did at work, he just wasn’t home. My Ken doll might have spent an entire week in the dusty cavern under my bed if I’d tossed him there when my dad left for work on Monday morning. I may even have forgotten to fish him out on Friday at supper time when my dad and his suitcase walked in the door. My dad travelled a lot.

What my Barbie needed was some children, then I would have known what to do with Ken. He could have carried the kids into the house after an evening drive, even if they were only pretending to be asleep. At bedtime Ken would have pulled a kitchen chair into the hallway so he could sit while he sang lullabies loudly to the ceiling so every bedroom could hear. He would have read stories like Tom Sawyer and Heidi to enchanted children seated in a semi circle at his feet (but my Barbie’s kids wouldn’t have had to wait a week to find out if Tom made it safely out of Injun Joe’s cave). He would have run behind a two wheeler until he was exhausted and breathlessly offered the kid on the bike a quarter if she could pedal the damn thing herself. My Ken would have been busy.

But my Barbie didn’t have kids, she had a wardrobe – my Ken only had the bathing suit and cabana top that he came home from the store in. I’m sure it was chilly and lonely under that bed. He was within earshot of a lot of fun, but busy doing dad stuff while we played.

I find myself wondering if my dad was relieved or lonely when he was on the road. We were a rambunctious bunch; we laughed a lot and played the stereo too loud. We had a parade of friends who would come over after school and often stay until well past supper (mom was always willing to throw another potato in the pot). Mom was a fairly relaxed house keeper – we did a blitz of the house on Friday afternoon before dad got home. I’m not sure dad cared what the house looked like or if Mom just thought he did. He was generally pleased to see us and happy to hang his business suits in the closet. He was a good egg, his weekends were filled with chores that would pile up while he was out of town. He did the heavy lifting, sang in the shower and whistled while he worked.

My Ken doll’s life would have certainly been more exciting if my Barbie had had some kids. If my Barbie had had kids I would have given my Ken a job that let him come home more often for supper. My Ken would have driven to the beach for picnics. He would have been home for concerts and school plays. But alas, my Barbie didn’t have any kids and my Ken spent most of his time hanging out in his bathing suit, under the bed, while Barbie changed her clothes.