Angela Correll

When I was a child, my cousin and I played together for hours while my aunt babysat me. We were both about the same age and both of us were the youngest in our family, which made us feel more like sisters.

At times, we fought like sisters. The one fight I remember was over a special doll we called Miss Peep.

The doll belonged to my cousin, but we both loved her dearly. Miss Peep was soft and delicate with blue eyes, pretty features and a bald head. She looked and felt like a real baby. Both of us wanted to be Miss Peep's mother, but we would take turns and allow the other to care for Miss Peep until our turn came around.

One day, neither of us wanted to share Miss Peep and we argued over whose turn it was to play with her. Our arguing escalated and I grabbed Miss Peep's leg while my cousin held the body. We both pulled and pulled until poor Miss Peep's leg came off in my hands.

We stared at our broken Miss Peep in shocked silence, and then we cried and cried. We never dreamed our selfishness could hurt Miss Peep. We grieved terribly over that doll, but we never fought like that again.