A month ago an idea popped into my head. I went to a closet and took out a large plastic bin. Opening the lid, I gazed down at an ensemble from my childhood. One by one, I pulled these memories from their storage bin and looked upon them. These were some of my friends as I was growing up. They were companions on many great adventures. We would explore the world from the top bunk of my bedroom. We would fend off the bad guys with our wit and strength. We would face perils and dangers by sticking together. As I placed each one on the floor beside me, I smiled sadly at a childhood that, while not always good, was mostly comfortable. During the difficult times, these valiant compatriots would be there for me.
There was Bob, a handsome brown bear wearing a blue jacket. Robert the Rabbit with his brown coveralls. Husky, a white dog that is definitely looking his age, much like a grizzled veteran of many play times. Next out was Kermit the Frog and Cookie Monster, both of whom had the black ink of their pupils faded with time (losing their eyesight in their old age, I suppose). Bert and Ernie followed, both looking worn and loved. Marty the Monkey with his sown on green hat. Actually, I thought to myself, I have to reconsider his name. Marty the Chimp. That's more like it. Marty doesn't have a tail, but he does look like a monkey rather than an ape. OK, he lost his tail in an accident before finding his way to my bedroom. That works.
Last, I pull out my four favourites. First, Barney the Bison. He is looking as solid and trustworthy as ever. Still missing one of his felt hooves, but that is Barney. Not only was Barney strong, but he was wise and compassionate. Next is Susie Bunny. She was an Easter gift from my grandparents, I think. Her gray fur shows a bald patch in a couple places, but her pink jelly-bean-like nose is as bright as ever. She was adventurous and fun. Sammy Seal follows, All white with a black nose. He was always the playful one, often getting himself into trouble that the others would help him out of. He has fiercely loyal, and became quite responsible as he grew older. Last is the smallest, a little lion I named Lambert, after the old Disney cartoon. Lambert is brown with a frilly colourful collar. He was the youngest of the group, quite often unsure of himself. I guess that is why I identified with him so much. Though he was the smallest and weakest of the clan, he was also the bravest. He was the one who faced his fears the most often, and he was looked upon fondly by the others.
I looked over my old friends. I greeted each one with a bit of sadness, as I had not taken the time to look at them in years. I speak to them, believing that they will respond while knowing that they cannot. They speak back to me. They are excited to see me. They understand that they have been put away but not forgotten. They know that they were loved my me, and still are. They seem...smaller than I remembered. They are happy that I am doing well. I chuckle and hold Barney close, remembering the feelings and emotions without remembering the specifics and details. The stories and adventures are all blurred in the annals of time, but the feelings are rekindled.
A pair of pitter-pattering feet run into the room. Two little angelic faces look up at me.
"What's that Daddy?" Barbara says.
"What dat, Daddy?" Hope echoes.
"These are some old friends of mine," I explain. "When I was a little boy, they comforted me when I was lonely. They protected me when I was scared. They stayed with me when I was sick. I hadn't seen them for a long time, so I thought I would have a little visit."
"Can I see one?" Barbara asked.
"I see!" Hope demanded.
I look down at my old friends. They seem to wink at me, as if to tell me what they want.
I look at Hope's bed, full of stuffed toys given to her in just three short years. Barbara's bed is fuller still. Surely they wouldn't want these old things, not when they have stuffies that are newer and less worn. Still, they look excited about seeing Daddy's past. I smile. I know exactly what comes next. In all honesty, I was hoping that this would happen as it did.
"Barbara, this is Barney Bison and Susie Bunny," I said as I handed over my two cherished friends. "And Hope, this is Sammy Seal and Lambert Lion."
Each daughter takes her two new toys into their arms. Hope, being not quite three years old, looks at Sammy and Lambert with curiosity, and then hugs them close to her chest when she sees her big sister do the same with Barney and Susie. Hope climbs into her bed with her new toys and gets ready to go to sleep. Barbara runs to her mother and shows her "Daddy's friends". I pack up the rest of the crew, wondering if and when they will be passed on to someone from the next generation of kin. Barbara passes by, going into her room. She looks at me and tells me "Don't worry Daddy. I'll take care of them and you can visit whenever you want!".
Smiling, I thank her for her generous offer. In the days following, Hope has Sammy and Lambert as part of her collection. Nothing special. Barbara, however, has taken a special shine to Susie and Barney. They are important to her, and she gives me regular updates. Sometimes I see her put them to bed in a makeshift cot of blankets that she spreads out on the flood. Often, they accompany her into our room in the mornings when she wakes up before us. She always lets me know she is taking good care of my friends. That's nice, because they took good care of me.
I must confess, I miss parts of my childhood. These stuffed toys, decades old now, were important to me because other parts of my childhood were not. They provided friendship, outlets for imagination, and hours of enjoyment. I know they are just inanimate objects, but they were there when human friends were not. Yes, I was teased by some when they found out I had "dolls". After a while, I just kept that part of my life to myself. Something that was mine alone, and now is shared with my daughters. I hope that the girls will get the same happiness from them, without the loneliness that necessitated it. I know that ultimately they will end up discarded at some point. Maybe not with the girls, but eventually. Not much lasts forever in this world. Not my friends, not my childhood. But how long things like this last is not what is most important. Instead, it is the impact on our lives that matters. For me, a small collection of stuffed toys brought happiness. For my daughters and grandchildren, perhaps the magic can continue.
If nothing else, it was a nice moment.
