Once upon a time there was a little boy whose mother waited most of his life to have him.
This mom wasn’t overly emotional, she gave away almost all of her toys before she left for college. His own mother was saddened, and said it looked like no one had been in his room since he left.
So, when this mom was 19, her mom gave her a stuffed Pooh bear. Maybe the mother wanted to return her daughter to her childhood.
Because it was Pooh, he loved and cherished the bear, because Winnie the Pooh and his gang were his and his sisters’ favorite book characters when they were children. Also, after a year away at college, a 19-year-old may need permission to partially stay as a child.
Twenty-two years later, she is “this mom” – who I am.
My mother, who mourned my passing and throwing away all my toys, the shower My son with stuffed toys. At Easter he got a stuffed rabbit. At Christmas he got a talking Elmo. On Valentine’s Day, he gifted her a teddy bear with a big heart.
Before he was born, my sister gifted us a musical stuffed giraffe. The music the giraffe played was often the only thing that could calm her colicky cries in the early months. I used the “singing” giraffe to help him sleep many nights. As the music plays, its head slowly turns and its newborn eyes will follow.
He and I watched children’s shows wishbone Together, the dog played detective. Naturally, I had to get the talking wishbone when it came out. He and Elmo can talk then.
Wishbone, he is of television fame. Author’s photo.
My son had it too barneyPurple Dragon, because that’s where he learned the song “Clean Up, Clean Up, Everybody Do Your Share.” We sang it together from when she was 18-months-old until she was three, as we put away all her stuffed animals. By then he was doing the work himself. And thank God, he eventually got tired of the TV show, whose character’s voice and songs make me want to throw more than a stuffed toy at the TV.
As she grew up, she had a Buddy doll that looked just like her. My son is half-black. Buddy is a toddler-sized black doll, with skin tone and hair that looks remarkably like my son’s. He loved it, and so did I. Representative dolls were hard to find in the early 1990s.
When he was in primary and secondary, I bought him a stuffed lion for his birthday. He is a Leo. They often become mine after I am too old to enjoy them. I’m never too old to snag “My Wion” as she named her first one.
When he was older, my sister gave him a nearly life-size black leopard. It graced the end of his bed until he left for college.
Before that, there were alien dolls, Bugs Bunny and a talking Michael Jordan doll, all from the movie. Space Jam. My son is a basketball player, and has been since the age of four. “Let’s play some basketball” was Jordan’s favorite phrase.
What is it about stuffed toys that appeals to us? Is it nostalgia, anthropomorphism, a return to childhood, a need for comfort, or all of the above?
Once my son left for college, I was just as alone as I thought I would be. Toy Story wasn’t wrong. The mother in Toy Story struggles to see her child go. The “baby” struggled to throw away his toys. Who wouldn’t struggle to let go of Buzz Lightyear and his cowboy friend Woody? The character’s solution was to give them to his younger sister, who was thrilled to give Buzz and the gang a new lease of life.
My son has no younger sister. He was born when I was forty-one. On the way to college, he dumped his stuffed toys, remote-controlled cars, leftover Pokémon cards, and play equipment with me, but took all his basketballs with him. He went on to play basketball in college.
For the first few years, I kept everything, exactly where she kept it in her room. The way my mother lived when I left some of mine when I went to college. Then I got a job offer less than an hour from where he was at school, starting playing basketball almost every weekend. I was driving over two hours every game day. I accepted.
Which means packing up everything in the house she grew up in, as well as throwing away things I don’t have room for in my new house. I’ll save you all the agonizing over what to keep and what to donate.
I kept a large plastic container full of – you guessed it – her stuffed toys. From Shamu to talking Taco Bell dolls, from Buddy to four Winnie-the-Poohs, one of which is my original from my mom. From a dancing flamingo my sister gave her for Valentine’s Day, to the wishbone who no longer speaks.
I think I hoped that I could one day pass them on to a grandchild, though many were like velveteen rabbits, cut off from too much love. I couldn’t part with them because of all the memories of his childhood. I suddenly understood my mother’s feelings.
I dived into the giant toy bin three Moved last here to Santa Fe, where I lived for a year. Toys became a factor again when I recently helped my son move from an apartment we shared in Austin, Texas to his new apartment in Los Angeles, California.
My townhouse has little storage, but my son had some things he couldn’t fit in his car for the long drive, so I took them home with me. Trying to free up storage space, I pulled out the large container of toys.
what now Try to shove them under the bed or somewhere else? My son is now thirty-two, and he is not as passionate about them as I am. if at all There are no grandchildren on the immediate horizon, and as I discovered, the toys are mostly scarred, missing a shirt or unable to talk anymore.
So, I am in the process of finding new homes for them. A few went to the donation, including Buzz Lightyear and “My Wion”. Some, including all but one Winnie-the-Pooh that I posted for sale Vintage toys have a certain monetary value. Although it’s still impossible for me to understand how my baby toys can be vintage. When did it happen??
I’m down to four. The Musical Giraffe, because it was the first gift I got after learning I was pregnant. Elmo wants to play, because he can still talk and maybe one day will have a grandchild, and for the same reason Winnie-the-Pooh, the most recent of all the vintage Poohs. Also a tiger that has springs on its legs and still bounces, which will delight a future, possible grandson, but also, who can get rid of a jumping tiger?
Only four of them have had so much furry-joy over the years. Oh, and Buddy, because, of course I’ll keep Buddy. My kid looks like one.
One final item remains. My mother gave me a pillow when my son was born. It says, ignore homework and organizing, “I rock my baby, and the kids don’t keep.”
Mother always knew.
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This post was Previously published in New Choice.
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From the Good Men Project on Medium
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Photo credit: Carol Lennox
