edge of the continent

I don’t like having a lot of “stuff” in my home that I don’t enjoy, need, or love, so I’m working on developing a less sentimental attitude towards those things that I’ve held onto over the years with little consideration for why I kept them. This has led to odd little pangs of resistance in some surprising instances: do I keep the cute erasers collected in a little tin from elementary school? How about the knickknack picked up on this trip with that person which continues to remind me of both, whether I am interested in remembering either of them or not?

One thing — or a pair of things, rather — that were happily held onto were the teddy bears my sister and I received as Christmas gifts when we were eight or so. Snuggle and Fluffy, as they were so imaginatively named, accompanied us everywhere. Fluffy developed an alter-ego named ‘Footy’ — on her foot, no less — who terrorized me from time to time. Regardless of the season, they were dressed in swimsuits accessorized with enthusiastically, if not all that accurately, crocheted swimcaps tied under their chins. Over time, their airy fur matted down into cozy nubs, while their soft insides settled into comfortable, floppy shapes. Bare spots began appearing in their coats. Poor Fluffy lost an eye somewhere along the way.

These days, the pair belong to my sister’s little girls, who squeal and hug them tight as we once did. Neither are much bigger than the bear they now call their own. Each time I see them eschew their newer, louder, shinier toys in favor of our little old bears, I am reminded of the story of The Velveteen Rabbit — and of just how real they have truly become.