My brother and I were Winnie-the-Pooh fans,
probably because our parents delighted in those books.
There was great wisdom there...
“I wish I could jump like that,” he thought.
“Some can and some can’t. That’s how it is.”
My parents read those stories
to us over and over; my father’s Eeyore voice was the best in town—low, slow
and decidedly morose.
We even had a recorded version
of a WTP story, narrated by Jimmy Stewart on old 78rpm records; there was a
picture book with it for reading along, and every time you were supposed to
turn the page, Pooh would say “rum-tum tiddle-iddle-um tum-tum.”
Whatever that meant.
My brother’s favorite stuffed animal was
Kanga, who even had a Baby Roo tucked into her pouch. They accompanied him into
his tonsillectomy when he was about eight years old—after which there was a
little spot of blood on Kanga, who had, apparently, had her tonsils removed, too. (Many years later we discovered that
Kanga’s were actually John’s adenoids... saved in a little jar along with his
inflamed tonsils!)
Mine was this bear.
This glorious, rough, worn bear was
originally supposed to be Winnie himself; I changed his name to Teddy and
dragged him about with me absolutely everywhere. He went for car rides (sitting
in the back seat with me); he got taken to my grandparents’ summer house in New Hampshire
She
made me a pair exactly like his!
Somewhere along the line, he
was given several different outfits: shorts, t-shirts, even a pair of jeans; he
had a suitcase and, as I recall, a yellow rainhat; a sou’wester!
When his paws wore off, my
grandfather made him leather pads. He lost an eye at some point; he was quite
dashing in his black eyepatch!
He was, without question, my best friend.
He’s still with me; he holds a place of honor
on the top shelf of my bookcase in my living room. He’s not in particularly
good shape, but then, neither am I—we’re both a little shopworn, a little slower
on the uptake.
But we’re older now, wiser.
Our relationship has hurtled
along for more than sixty years, and I expect a few more. I see him every day,
look up to the shelf as I pass through the living room each morning on my way
to the kitchen for a cup of coffee...
...rum-tum tiddle-iddle-um
tum-tum
I can easily picture Teddy in his black eyepatch, red bandana on his head, wearing a black belt to hold his pirate sword -- or maybe a butter knife. Great blog ~ Barb
ReplyDeleteI'm not sure Ted would be a pirate: he's far too much a pacifist for that (good Quaker Bear that he is...)
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