Christmas Stories Throughout the Years | The Barbie House My Dad Built (1970s)
A 1970s Christmas story about intention, expectation, and understanding that comes with time
Some Christmas gifts stay with you because they were exactly what you wanted. Others stay with you because they weren’t.
This is the story of the Barbie house my dad built for me when I was in third grade. A gift that, at eight years old, I didn’t fully understand and at fifty-nine, I finally do.
My mom and dad didn’t buy me a dollhouse that year. My dad built one.
Not just a dollhouse… a house.
It had electricity. Real wiring. Lights that worked on Christmas morning. But, the size was an issue.
He built it in the garage and didn’t quite account for how tall it was. When it came time to bring it inside, it wouldn’t fit through the front door unless we laid it on its side (wood is HEAVY!). It was so big I could actually lay down inside it.
My dad’s intention was for it to be finished. Complete. Like a real home.
But his ideas were often bigger than his follow-through. For years it was on our back porch because it was so cumbersome inside. The Barbie house ended up about fifty percent finished before we eventually took it apart.
What I had asked Santa for that year was the big Barbie townhouse from the Sears catalog. The one “everyone else” seemed to have. The one my friends were playing with.
At eight years old, I didn’t have words for the feeling, just a quiet question in my heart about wanting one thing and receiving another.
That Christmas planted something deeper than I realized at the time. A question that followed me into adulthood. Am I giving them the gift they really want?
It’s a question I’ve carried into motherhood, into relationships, into how I show up for the people I love.
As an adult, I can see the hours he put in. The effort. The pride. The desire to create something special for his daughter.
Eight-year-old Cathy wanted the townhouse from the catalog. I can see now why it was top priority I bought my children their number one “Santa request” each year. Even if I didn’t understand why they wanted it or if I thought they would like something else better.
Fifty-nine-year-old Cathy understands the love behind the one he built.
Some gifts meet expectations. Some reveal intentions. And some take decades to fully understand.
This one taught me that love doesn’t always arrive packaged the way we imagine but it still counts.
And sometimes, the meaning of a Christmas gift grows as we do.
This post is part of my ongoing series, Christmas Stories Throughout the Years, where I share memories, traditions, and moments that shaped the holidays — and the woman I’ve become.