'Barbie' movie brings back sweet memories for this dad

There was something missing from the "Barbie" movie: dads.

Oh, come on. That's so typical. That's just what a man would say. It's NOT ABOUT YOU, DUDE.

I get it. Complaining about the lack of dads in the "Barbie" movie is like criticizing "20,000 Leagues Under the Sea" for its lack of mountain goats. It doesn't mean that mountain goats aren't important. It just means this isn't that movie, and that's fine.

"Barbie" did have two dad mentions, taking up about 0.07% of the movie, and that was welcome. I'm not complaining, just using my male know-how to explain something. ...

Let me rephrase that. (Upends the Etch-a-Sketch, gives it a good shake.)

Dads have complicated relationships with Barbie dolls, too. For most of us, Barbie is a language we do not speak. Even though we are married to women, we still wonder why Barbie needs so many shoes. We look at that big, pink mobile home that Barbie drives, and we wonder what kind of mileage it gets, and try to bring home the importance of checking your tire pressure before you set off on a long trip down the hall, but it doesn't seem to resonate.

You make sure you get the hot Barbie of the year, which is either a Mermaid or an Angel or maybe Medusa Barbie with motorized hair that turns Ken to stone, not that you could tell. You spend a few Christmas mornings attempting to extricate her from the box, where she has been cinched tight by cruel Chinese robots, or assembling the Barbie Dream Oven or Barbie Quickly Regretted Time Share Purchase or something, feeling useful, using tools.

I spent an hour on the phone the other day discussing the movie with Daughter, and she reminded me that she'd never really been that keen on Barbie. The obligatory Barbie phase (OBP) was like the aisle in the grocery store that doesn't have much that you need, but it's part of the weekly visit.

She was fonder of Polly Pockets, an insidious plot by toy makers to strew 1,239,397 small plastic pieces all around the house. (I vacuumed up a purse the other day, 19 years after the fact.) But then I reminded her of the song and the game.

At the time, Barbie Inc. was putting out animated movies, and "The Princess and the Pauper" a la Barbie was the running soundtrack in the house for a year. "I'm just like you! You're just like me! There's somewhere else we'd rather be!" I can sing it to this day.

The movies had spinoff games, and Daughter took to a program that let you color magical scenes and solve puzzles. She loved to festoon the images with all sorts of pastel gewgaws, and when she wasn't around, I would sneak into her computer and take screengrabs of her work, thinking she'd enjoy them someday.

That's why I was curious to see the Barbie movie, because I associate the character with some of the happiest, simplest days a dad can have. An ordinary morn, typing away at the kitchen table, Daughter carefully clicking to make the most beautiful picture ever. "Want to see, Dad?" Why, of course I do.

There's nowhere else I'd rather be.

She's grown up now and working in an advertising agency, and sends me links to her work. "Want to see?" What do you think? The same thing I thought 20 years ago, kid. I don't speak Barbie, but I savvy happy, and that's what I am when I think about those days of dad life.

Hey, you can't spell patriarchy without "Pa."