It's been more than fifty years (I'm not saying how much more) since a neighbour kid called Kenny slung my sister's doll over his shoulder, holding her by one leg, puffed his chest out and said, "I'm Santy Claus."
Both Sis and I were devastated, but too intimidated to intervene.
Shy farm kids, we were used to playing only with each other and our brother, who was younger, and not there at the time to defend the poor doll, whose name was Bunchy.
Recently, I read a wise and humorous book by Barbara and Allan Pease, called Why Men Don't Listen and Women Can't Read Maps (New York, Welcome Rain, 2000).
During that enjoyable read, I experienced a moment of memory about Kenny and the doll, and an instant insight about why Kenny behaved the way he did toward Bunchy.
It was because he was a boy.