My birthday happens to be in early January. I’m in my fourth decade now, which seems young to some and ancient to my children. As I’ve grown, my reflection on the new year has become more intertwined with an awareness of passing time.
So, I’ve ordered a personalized bobblehead doll.
As per their design, bobbleheads nod agreeably. My kids are at the age where they cry, “No!” to just about everything I suggest. It would be nice to have someone around who regularly agrees with me.
National Bobblehead Day is January 7. Clearly, there is a wider appeal for these unusual figures. I read somewhere that Disney characters all have large heads compared to their bodies because we find it comforting. It makes them appear more childlike. It also allows oversized eyes and mouths, which communicate clear feelings. There is a time for nuance, but you don’t want Mickey Mouse or your bobblehead to be cryptic or shrouded in mystery.
With a personalized bobblehead, the face is modeled after mine. The company that produces the figure offers a wide range of selections for attire. I thought about some of the clergy types, but I rarely wear a clerical collar or a suit and tie. Plus, my desire for a bobblehead is not about my professional life. Options included casual outfits, even writerly ones, such as posing with a journal or book in hand. I could have selected clothes that corresponded to one of my hobbies, like hiking.
I decided on a baseball uniform.
The first bobbleheads were baseball players, a gimmick to draw fans to the stadium. But the draw for me was personal. I played baseball in high school and briefly at a small Lutheran college. Baseball was my religion. I was a devotee—I invested my time, effort, energy, and dreams in the sport. It was more than an activity; baseball was my identity. That is no longer the case, and I don’t wish to go back in time.
But looking at my image in uniform reminds me of some of the best days of my youth. I’ve forgotten most of the wins and losses, the successes and failures. What remains are the smells of cut grass and leather gloves, the texture of dirt between my fingers and the bat in my hands, and the joy of a team sport, which is a timeless feeling of connection to something greater than one’s self. This is healthy nostalgia, right?
My bobblehead definitely agrees with me.
Andrew Taylor-Troutman is the author of “Little Big Moments,” a collection of mini-essays about parenting, and “Tigers, Mice & Strawberries: Poems.” Both titles are available most anywhere books are sold online. Taylor-Troutman lives in Chapel Hill where he serves as pastor of Chapel in the Pines Presbyterian Church and occasionally stumbles upon the wondrous while in search of his next cup of coffee.
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