Ode to John the Forgotten

How could I forget you? For years, you have not even entered my mind. How can that be? I'm acquainted with your counterpart from my husband's past. I'm not sure what his name was, (Snowball maybe) but he was white and fuzzy and became a multi-generational servant before he went the way of the Velveteen Rabbit. As have you, John.

You were resurrected in my memory one warm lazy afternoon during a study hall in my classroom. One of my high school students asked if she could interview me for a project. I agreed. Pretty typical questions. "Where were you born? Where did you grow up? What about siblings? Any childhood pets? A favorite toy?" I started to say no, when she elaborated, "Maybe a teddy bear?" Oh my God! There you were! Rushing back at me. I remember getting you when I was three from my "new" aunt. Who knows why I named you John. Who knows why my sister named her pink bunny "Barney." I don't remember how I came to name you, but I do remember this:
You were stiff and over-stuffed then, clad with a shiny red bow at your throat.
But within 10 years, your bow was gone (no doubt I decided to wear it in my own hair and lost it flying on some swing set.)
Your plastic snout was scuffed (from that careless love of childhood: one minute kissing you, the next dragging you face down along the floor.)
You were soft and mushy (from the tears I shed against your chest.)
You were the first thing I looked at as I came in from school (slumped on my bed, or else looking like a yogi, your nose touching your feet, see the soft, mushy reasons listed above.)

For years you never left that plane of my bed. Life's only variety for you was when I happened to get a new bedspread or take you along to Grandma's. But you knew all my secrets. Nothing seemed too silly to tell you. Never did I fear your disapproval as I expounded the unfairness of every well-deserved punishment I received. You were my surrogate playmate, brother, father, boyfriend, comforter and peace-giver...until I went away to college. There I found new sources of comfort. You stayed at home. I didn't really see you as serving any purpose beyond nostalgia at that point. I should have taken you with me. I didn't stop needing the comfort, I just found "living" but unworthy substitutes. Then, when I began to learn more about what was in the crater pool of pain I carried, and all the ripples that slid over it, I didn't want to remember you. Actually, I didn't want to remember why I needed you, why I cried on your chest. Other girls had stuffed animal collection. But me...I was monogamous.

"Did you have a favorite toy, maybe a teddy bear?"
It's revival time in the church of my memory. Thanks for everything, John. May some baby in heaven be holding you now.