Hi.
Much to my chagrin, I have been struggling with a few of the posts that I have been intending to write. I've had the drafts open, and when I go to write, I either sit there with all my thoughts in my head, or I let myself get distracted by the instant messages of friends I no longer talk to daily. And the sad part is, that the posts aren't all on serious topics. I just find myself with my thoughts and no idea of how they should be presented, organized, structured... you get the point. As I was listening to the twangs of a certain movie's soundtrack, my gaze landed upon an old friend of mine, a friend of a very cuddly nature.
He's large. He's red. He's furry. And no, he's not Clifford. He's my three foot (and some) tall teddy bear, Crayola.
Now of course, a brief history of our relationship. Crayola was introduced to me at a very young age, an age where he overshadowed me in terms of height (I don't remember the exact age, but I may have been around two-thirds of his height). Originally he was not mine to own. I learned later on through a random memory retelling that he was purchased by my father for my mother. I don't recall the circumstances of the purchase. All I know is that once I saw him, there was naught my mother could do but relinquish ownership to me. For then, I carried him everywhere. He even sheltered me from a fall down half a set of stairs. At that age, I had not learned to completely pay attention to what I was reading but I had a penchant for coloring with Crayola crayons. Now, this bear (unnamed at the time) wore a sweater matching the bright color of the fur. On this sweater was a slim black oval with a word written in red over it. I, of course, simply recognized the shape as the familiar symbol on my crayons, and thus dubbed the bear Crayola. Of course, once I comprehensively read what the word was, I realized that the sweater was in fact a varsity sweater with the word "Varsity" not "Crayola" written on it. But of course his name remains Crayola, as he will remain with me for the rest of my life (no joke).
If you haven't guessed, Crayola is not the sole stuffed friend of mine. He is one of my favorites among many, many other fuzzy little creatures. I've liked them from the very beginning of time - as in before I really had any memories aside from the occasional brief flicker of a scene. According to my parents, I always loved surrounding myself with them in hordes as I stood with my head on the ground, looking through my legs at them. When we moved into my current house, I began collecting several more through gifts and stored them in a huge hammock strung in the corner of my room (they are still hanging there). The initial portion of this time period could also be considered my Barbie and doll house phase. Later, when I switched rooms with the study, the net stayed in the room, but the ones closest to my heart and my collection of Beanie Babies followed me to my new bedroom. Both became forms of decor for the newly styled room (more so the Beanie Babies than the others), but my favorites are still perched on my bed. At this point, I gained one or two more for my collection, but not many others.
And to of course keep with my pattern, they did follow me to my dorm room in college. Unfortunately, I was only allowed to bring one, though Crayola was immediately disqualified. On the other hand, through my years in college, I gained a few precious additions to my away-from-home company.
Now for me to describe to you all my wonderful friends, I would be entrenched in an endeavor more daunting than the task of cataloging my shoe collection for you. And unlike my shoes, I most definitely do not remember all of my stuffed animals, though some of them can't quite be called animals... Yes, there are the traditional bears (there are at least 10) and other commonly found critters, but there are also mascots, mythical creatures, and even random shapes. The sizes range from fitting in your palm to the wonderful size of Crayola. And I have managed to evade any and all attempts my mother has made to trash or donate them. Why? I really don't know. It's not like most of them hold significant value to me. But the collection of them is a sort of safety, a warmness from my early childhood I have naught but a general feelings from.
But there probably is a question lingering in your mind as to why I still have this attachment to these "dust collecting traps" (as my father succinctly put). It really comes down to my over active imagination and my childhood.
Growing up, I was a fairly lonely child (I'm sure I've mentioned this before). The point being, I either didn't have any attachment to playmates, or I simply didn't feel like interacting with these kids. I'd rather come back home and play with my stuffed animals. But they also were something for me to hug and love when I did feel alone. They were there for me through the tantrums, the chance nightmares, the times I just felt like snuggling, and those times I felt sorry for my self. There were a constant in my life. It's actually probably easier for me to explain why by telling you about the ones that have stood out among all the others.
A few months ago, during a "spring" cleaning of one of the basement closets, I stumbled across a box of knickknacks and toys from both mine and my brother's early years. Underneath a few distracting toys for two year olds and squeezed in next to an interactive very hungry caterpillar was a bunny rabbit. Now, at a glance, you could tell that this toy was old. The fur was worn down, its color a faded, dull yellow. The soft fuzz on it's pink nose had been worn away to the plastic beneath. Of the large oval eyes, there remained only scratches of the original black paint. Snatching up the bunny, I glared at my mother. Only she could have placed it there.
Unnamed, but not unloved, this bunny was my proverbial blankie. I carried it everywhere, clutching one long ear or the other and dragging it along the floor (pre-Crayola of course). It also served as my tissue, to wipe my nose and mouth at any time. Over the years, I've been regaled with the elaborate plans my parents hatched to separate me from the bunny. The tales ranged from preventing me from taking the rabbit into the bath alongside me to trying to steal it away so that it could be washed. It has finally found it's way back into a place of honor, happily plopped beside Crayola. I might not remember the specifics of our relationship, but I most definitely recall my fondness for it.
Since I have already mentioned Crayola, I will move to the next stage of my life and the companion who was there through it. I'd have to say, that this fellow is probably one of the most treasure of all my buddies, and maybe it's because of the time period through which he was there. At this time, I had discovered the extent to which I really was detached from the cliques at school and was forced to deal with the hurtful teasing of an enamored, immature boy. It was at my 12th birthday, around the time that I had discovered my fondness for beanie babies, that I received a gift. It was from one of the large collection of beanie babies, a tiger cub. It had all the trademarks: the heart shaped tag with the name and information about the tiger cub, the microbead fillings within the belly. Unlike all the other small beanie babies, I decided to use the name given on the tag. And so Bengal was born.
In my mind, I had already begun concocting the story preceding our first encounter. It followed along the lines of a tigress unable to protect her child, losing him to poachers on the lookout for exotic wildlife. Through some miracle, the poachers were caught, and wild life preservationists managed to rescue the cub. Unfortunately, he had been taken too far from his home to return, and was in need of a home. So he was sent to me. The details as to why he was sent to me were irrelevant - you don't question those kinds of things. Obviously I was thrilled that I had a pet tiger, similar to Jasmine's pet, Raja, from Aladdin. But my imagination didn't stop there. My entire life to that point, I was never allowed a pet, due to family members' allergies. So I would often dream up, not imaginary friends, but imaginary pets (I do believe they were a king cobra and a tarantula. One was always wrapped around my arm, the other on the opposite shoulder). And Bengal inspired another fantasy, of having a live tiger that grew with me. Some times I would even dream that he had fully grown, always standing by my side, in addition to my previous two pets of course ^_^.
Bengal earned the coveted position, next to me every day and night. With his soft fur and nose, he was my constant companion through the rest of grade school. Granted, at some point I no longer saw him as an imaginary pet, and solely as a cuddle buddy at night or as something to hug when I needed the comfort. And when I was limited to bringing a single stuffed animal to college with me, there was no doubt Bengal would be the one.
In my mind, I no longer saw these stuffed animals as sentient living beings, but as sources of solace and memories. For example, as a birthday present, I received a Linux penguin from a close friend. Now, I don't use Linux. But the penguin triggered fond memories of the random crap we used to do together and it actually was a very nice projectile. Really, the significance of the penguin had a lot to do with a writing exercise that blew up into an entire universe, from it's galactic creation to it's final steady state - we had not the heart to imagine it's destruction. I still have the Google documents we worked on, with sketches and brainstorms (we called them soulstorms... but that's really extraneous info) on all the main and sub-plots. But the fact that we had been simultaneously working on various directions was probably the cause of the fading effort to complete the story.
Ok, so stepping away from my distracted tangent into this world - I can go on and on about this, and despite the genius I think was put into it, I doubt it would attract much interest for you. What I was really trying to point out, was that we each assigned a pair of secondary characters to represent ourselves within the story, as comedic relief and to aid in decisive moments within the plot. I was a penguin and he was an elephant. Really, the memories behind the penguin encompass not only this story building, but also my relationships and life during that time.
I no longer collect stuffed animals like I had when I was younger. I treasure those that are given to me, ones that retain the memories of the times I've spent with friends. I don't really need any others to provide me comfort when I'm sad. That sort of connection takes years to build and an imagination I couldn't employ without feeling entirely ridiculous. I'm sure that when it comes down to it, these few precious comrades of mine will stick with me for the rest of my life.
And now that I have used up your time and filled your mind with this little bit of moonshine, I bid you adieu.
A whimsical, nonsense song, for the fanciful ones that will always be in my heart:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=036-gGuVb3w
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