This is the first story that jumped out at me:

Poor Pitiful Pearl
By: Su

I was about 8 when my oldest brother, Donald, and his wife, gave me a little doll for my birthday. Her name was Poor Pitiful Pearl. Pearl was a ragamuffin. She had patches on her little jumper dress and stick-straight hair. A generous sprinkling of freckles danced across her nose and cheeks. Her nose was a little button which was small, but, bulbous-shaped. Looking at the times, now, Pearl was everything that the women of the times did not want to be. Women, then, were all about curling their hair, covering freckles and definitely,dressing well. Poor Pitiful Pearl.

When I opened the present that Donald gave me, I had pulled out Pearl and was kind of taken back. She was not like the other dolls - pretty and cute. She was homely looking. I remember the adults laughing about how pathetic-looking Pearl was. That was the first time in my life that I felt strong compassion for something, even if it was a doll. Dolls are important to little girls. They give us a constant friend in our ever-changing, life-evolving existence. When my brother and his wife, Barbara, started laughing at Pearl, I almost cried. I felt so sorry for the little waif.

My love for Pearl was my first experience in loving and caring for a "child" or another person outside of my family. I would dress Pearl in my other doll's clothes and brush her straggling hair. She never left my side, unless it was to go to school. My expensive doll, Maribelle, sat on the shelf while I toted Pearl with me everywhere I went. She was a good friend, as well as, my charge.

Maribelle still lives on a shelf in my room. Her hair is still neatly combed and tied back. Her clothes, though a bit spotted with age, still adorn her smooth surface. Pearl didn't fare so well. Pearl was a doll you played with, not one to set on a shelf. We played hard, too. One day, my other brother, Howard, was digging a hole to bury a time capsule, of sorts. It was actually a shoe box with some plastic figures from Fort Apache, a couple of trading cards and a few other miscellaneous objects.

Howard convinced me, that day, that Pearl would be forever enshrined in that place if we buried her with the time capsule. He pointed out that, no matter what may happen, I could always come back there and Pearl would be there. So, I buried Pearl. I don't know if Pearl is still buried there, or not. We moved from that house and the years have brought so much change. There is not any way for me to go find out. It would not sit well for the current resident, my digging up their yard for a doll. So, in a way, Pearl is still there, to me. I had her for a little while, and had fun. Then, I placed her in the hole where time stood still. She's there waiting for me. She'll be there when I go back.