There she was, discarded in a grim corner, amassing layers of dust as me and my teary eyes mulled over her ultimate faith. She was there for me when, as a brat, I had to put up with the scorn from the kids of my block, all pointing at me because I had the nerve to dress her as a soldier, marine, bomber, jungle explorer, or football player (Arsenal, of course).
She stood the laughs together with me, acknowledging the frosty, evident fact: neither the world nor my neighbors were prepared to see a boy playing with a Barbie, a Barbie who dared to take over the manliest tasks ever seen by humankind.
Would the world be ready for an aging man to remove the dust from his Bearded Barbie and stand proud before the crowds? It is yet to be seen.
Mustache Malibu... here we go!