That vague sussuration is the sound of 24,999 people nodding in agreement whilst grinning sheepishly. The other one is in denial; he'll get there eventually.
Wonderful, moving and way too close to home for comfort, thanks Mike. x
My teddypig, Hamlet is 26. I went out to buy a skirt for a new job but passed a teddy shop and went inside and... well I did not buy a skirt that day. Hamlet has slept with my husband and I for many years and travels with us on overseas adventures. He once lost his head in Paris, but then, haven’t we all? When I took him to be repaired, the doll hospital in Melbourne told me I could have him back in ‘around 2 weeks’. When they saw my face they continued without pause: “unless he belongs to an adult in which case he’ll be back tomorrow, we’ll call you as soon as he’s ready.” So its not just you, Mike. Or me. When I’m in public with him, people often sidle up to me and whisper, “I have a teddy too!” I’m glad its not the seventeenth century, though, or I’d probably be burned for a witch for having cats and poppets.
That's lovely. I love a good origin story to a stuffed animal. (I found Trevor squashed at the bottom of a wire bin at the post office, and felt sorry enough to buy him). Hooray for all these secret teddy bears! Although maybe it'd be even better if they weren't secret...
Oh! I still have a stuffed magenta velour pterodactyl that my grandmother gave me at age six when I was a the beginning of a six year obsession with dinosaurs.
Her name is Oasis, and she is now (does the math) 39 years old. The wire in her wings no longer hold them up, and I always said I was keeping her for my future children just in case.
They didn’t want her and chose an elephant (my eldest who is now 16 and still sleeps with Ellie) and my youngest has a whole slew of stuffies that he created several books about when he was young. I was a very active and involved parent and not at all aloof, but I believed in the power of stuffed creatures as good friends, so I encouraged it. (Sometimes you can tell a stuffy something you’d never tell anyone else)
This response is getting newsletter sized but I also wanted to mention this thing I would do at my shop as a service to those letting go of their stuffed animals and those young kids looking for a new friend.
***that story below***
I had a shelf in my shop at the front of the store and it was hidden behind a giant photograph of some pier in Nova Scotia. I painted 11 iridescent and hard to see ghosts on it. I collected stuffed creatures from garage sales, and relocated the ones that my children didn’t quite love enough to this shelf. When I kid who looked like they needed a big of magic came into the shop (likely being dragged on an antiquing/shopping adventure by a parent) I would ask them if they could count the ghosts in the painting. If they successfully found 11 (and they always did) the giant photo would come down like a drawbridge to reveal an anxious bunch of stuffies hoping for their new person.
I would tell the child that one of those stuffies had been waiting for them, and they’d know exactly which one it was.
I remember a five year old came in and she chose a large colourful lamb she called Lamb-Lamb and for the next two years I received pictures from her mother and her Lamb-Lamb on adventures.
The shelf also became a sacred place where the 20 year olds with “too many stuffies” would bring their childhood friends knowing they would get a completely new life of meaningful adventure.
All this was done for free. And the parents would say. But how can you make money just giving things away?!
And I would say “this gift does come with a cost”, and the kids would almost always say something to the tone of “I promise to go into the world and be my kinder self”. And that was it. The idea of a gentler world through every day magic.
Stuffies are powerful things they are.
Thank you for writing your piece, reading the responses to it has utterly made my day.
This is a wonderful comment. Thank you so much for it, Wake. :)
And oh my: a hidden shelf ready to reveal stuffies looking for new owners. This is absolutely grand and commendable, and I would very much like to read a full edition of your Substack about it, please. It's the kind of true story that needs and deserves a much larger audience than the comment section of this 'ere place. I dare ya.
Well, this resonated. I was a bit "poorly parented" and I sleep with my childhood stuffed dog, Harry Hound, at age 55. I *did* loan him to my daughter when she was transitioning to sleeping in a "big girl bed" (about 18 years ago) and he stayed in her room until she left home. However, after my Dad passed six years ago, Harry came back to sleep with me. In ways that I realize and respect, he represents all the things my Dad couldn't be for me. Thankfully, my DH of 34 years gets this - more respect to *him* for that! There's no amount of money that could replace Harry - he's the first item on the "save in case of fire" list. (Second is my daughter's precious Lovee Bah, *then* the scrapbooks!)
I, too, cleaned out my childhood home in the past couple of years. That's a tough one, Mike. I'm glad you survived the process without much distress. My dad was a hoarder, so we literally had to burn a lot of what was there. All the *things* my mom valued so much were deemed worthless. Ironically, the things she stuck in a closet 50 years ago and forgot were what turned out to have value. But, in the end, I curated the relatively few items that meant something to me and let the rest go. There are so many people I know who can't park their cars in their garage because it's accumulated a family member's possessions; worse, some are living on top of a family member's things because they can't "dismantle" their life.
The memories (the good ones) are really the only part that matters. Make those count.
Agreed. And thank you for such a beautiful comment, Michele.
Yes, this kind of hoarding, I guess it's pretty common? It makes me think that there is so much stuff in the world, and if some of it was more in circulation, there's be much less of a need for New Stuff. I know it's nowhere near that simple, but - the items that can be used, my anthropomorpizing kicks in and I imagine them waiting patiently but sadly to be rediscovered and to get back into the world to do what they're designed to do. Yet there's so much that gets hoarded that is way beyond that, beyond even upcycling into something else....
Also: I think about how possessions take a tiny part of bandwidth in our minds, a tiny bit of attention that's frustrating us. When oh WHEN will we get around to using that thing??!!? And in those cases, it must be better for everyone, including us, to just move those things on to someone who can use them immediately, instead of letting them vex us for years and years. I'm trying to remember this with my own stuff these days. It feels important.
Nice. Made me look for my Teddy, we’ve been together 60 years or so - he’s never far, but sometimes he does get neglected. Now out and lounging on the bed, as is appropriate.
I think this really showcases the human superpower: the symbol. We do this to get through tough times, but we also do it to learn how to do things... EG, I loved playing Warcraft II and Civilization II on the PC during the mid 90s, and I think I learned an awful lot about how to run a business. The world was sort of symbolic of the larger business ecosystem I was entering.
Fully agree. Storytelling and symbolism into meaning and support. And I also with the Warcraft II and Civ II! But then I got hooked on city/colony builders (Pharaoh & Caesar 3, Sim City, the early Anno games) and in the weirdest of ways, I finally started learning how to manage my finances by increasing my income instead of just cutting my costs - that utterly critical mindset shift that's so important for the self-employed folk who want to grow. I will never stand by while someone argues that videogames are a waste of time without earshot of me...
I was encouraged when you said that stuffed toys had been attributed in ancient times to children, and asked whether we had jumped to conclusions. Archaeology is often about jumping to conclusions. Yet, when you quote Cannadine, although he guards himself with "perhaps", he does, when all's said and done, proselytise, as do we all in blogs.
The scientifically unprovable is the greatest secret to the beholder, and the greatest mystery to the observer and, once the observer has concluded in its scientific unprovability, then he can summon such ideas as pareidolia, anthropomorphism, superstition, or madness, as much as he pleases, but, in his world of hard evidence and established fact - wherever that exists - he can never enter the anthroposophical world of the phenomenon's existence in the eyes of its beholder.
"Perhaps" is as close as he can get, because, by his science, he locks himself out of the Denkweise of him of whom he attempts to gain the measure, which can be achieved only with measures beyond his ken and ability.
Couldn't agree more. And not too far under the surface, too.
Kids may not know much about how the world works at first, but during that learning process, they also pick up a lot of over-complicated or just plain daft grown-up ways of thinking about things. (The first chapter of Alexandra Horowitz's "On Looking" has a lot to say about that, to its huge credit.) It'd be nice if someone could keep reminding us not to grow up *too* much.
I guess we can remind each other. Your article is a reminder. My article about being children in adult bodies is a reminder. The kids in our life are a reminder.
I have teddy and bunny, both very threadbare - teddy has no eyes, two other teddies and a couple of toy dogs tucked up in the bed in my spare room. It's winter here and very cold, and I pile the blankets on them when it's an especially cold night, say hello every morning and goodnight every night. Am I a hopeless case? I don't think so, but that's just my opinion.
Great post. I have a baby dragon softie on my bed. My adult children laugh at me, but I don't care. Love that dragon - she gives the room 'person'ality. Love Teddies too. 💜
After just losing my mom and working through that grief and the funeral to come this touched my heart, as much about the attachment to inanimate objects as the attachment to a lifestyle I've lived with so long. Now it will be my turn to sort through 1/2 a lifetime of things but her handmade bunnies were always with her and they will now be forever with me until my children take them on.
I'm so sorry for your loss, Debbie, and I'm glad this piece resonated. And I love that youre already making plans to pass along the handmade bunnies - it's weirdly comforting to think of some of our prized possessions outlasting us? At least I find it so, and especially so when we make a conscious choice to pass them along...
I still have my stuffed tiger that my parents gave me on my first birthday (they thought it would be fun to let me choose the toy). Its foam stuffing is a bit crunchy after 65 years and I’d love to be able to restore it.
A dare - well then! I do have a very special dog that I hope you’ll accept. Its history is personal to me. It’s weighted so that it fits soothingly in my hand and it got me through some very low points. Just looking at it makes me smile.
That vague sussuration is the sound of 24,999 people nodding in agreement whilst grinning sheepishly. The other one is in denial; he'll get there eventually.
Wonderful, moving and way too close to home for comfort, thanks Mike. x
Thank you, Cathy! I had no idea how this one would be received, so I'm glad it hit home for some folk.
My teddypig, Hamlet is 26. I went out to buy a skirt for a new job but passed a teddy shop and went inside and... well I did not buy a skirt that day. Hamlet has slept with my husband and I for many years and travels with us on overseas adventures. He once lost his head in Paris, but then, haven’t we all? When I took him to be repaired, the doll hospital in Melbourne told me I could have him back in ‘around 2 weeks’. When they saw my face they continued without pause: “unless he belongs to an adult in which case he’ll be back tomorrow, we’ll call you as soon as he’s ready.” So its not just you, Mike. Or me. When I’m in public with him, people often sidle up to me and whisper, “I have a teddy too!” I’m glad its not the seventeenth century, though, or I’d probably be burned for a witch for having cats and poppets.
That's lovely. I love a good origin story to a stuffed animal. (I found Trevor squashed at the bottom of a wire bin at the post office, and felt sorry enough to buy him). Hooray for all these secret teddy bears! Although maybe it'd be even better if they weren't secret...
Long live Trevor, and thank you for sharing his origin story.
This might be my favourite thing I’ve read of yours
❤️ Oh wow. Well, thank you, Noha. That means a lot.
Oh! I still have a stuffed magenta velour pterodactyl that my grandmother gave me at age six when I was a the beginning of a six year obsession with dinosaurs.
Her name is Oasis, and she is now (does the math) 39 years old. The wire in her wings no longer hold them up, and I always said I was keeping her for my future children just in case.
They didn’t want her and chose an elephant (my eldest who is now 16 and still sleeps with Ellie) and my youngest has a whole slew of stuffies that he created several books about when he was young. I was a very active and involved parent and not at all aloof, but I believed in the power of stuffed creatures as good friends, so I encouraged it. (Sometimes you can tell a stuffy something you’d never tell anyone else)
This response is getting newsletter sized but I also wanted to mention this thing I would do at my shop as a service to those letting go of their stuffed animals and those young kids looking for a new friend.
***that story below***
I had a shelf in my shop at the front of the store and it was hidden behind a giant photograph of some pier in Nova Scotia. I painted 11 iridescent and hard to see ghosts on it. I collected stuffed creatures from garage sales, and relocated the ones that my children didn’t quite love enough to this shelf. When I kid who looked like they needed a big of magic came into the shop (likely being dragged on an antiquing/shopping adventure by a parent) I would ask them if they could count the ghosts in the painting. If they successfully found 11 (and they always did) the giant photo would come down like a drawbridge to reveal an anxious bunch of stuffies hoping for their new person.
I would tell the child that one of those stuffies had been waiting for them, and they’d know exactly which one it was.
I remember a five year old came in and she chose a large colourful lamb she called Lamb-Lamb and for the next two years I received pictures from her mother and her Lamb-Lamb on adventures.
The shelf also became a sacred place where the 20 year olds with “too many stuffies” would bring their childhood friends knowing they would get a completely new life of meaningful adventure.
All this was done for free. And the parents would say. But how can you make money just giving things away?!
And I would say “this gift does come with a cost”, and the kids would almost always say something to the tone of “I promise to go into the world and be my kinder self”. And that was it. The idea of a gentler world through every day magic.
Stuffies are powerful things they are.
Thank you for writing your piece, reading the responses to it has utterly made my day.
Please send my hellos to Trevor and Weasel.
This is a wonderful comment. Thank you so much for it, Wake. :)
And oh my: a hidden shelf ready to reveal stuffies looking for new owners. This is absolutely grand and commendable, and I would very much like to read a full edition of your Substack about it, please. It's the kind of true story that needs and deserves a much larger audience than the comment section of this 'ere place. I dare ya.
Well, this resonated. I was a bit "poorly parented" and I sleep with my childhood stuffed dog, Harry Hound, at age 55. I *did* loan him to my daughter when she was transitioning to sleeping in a "big girl bed" (about 18 years ago) and he stayed in her room until she left home. However, after my Dad passed six years ago, Harry came back to sleep with me. In ways that I realize and respect, he represents all the things my Dad couldn't be for me. Thankfully, my DH of 34 years gets this - more respect to *him* for that! There's no amount of money that could replace Harry - he's the first item on the "save in case of fire" list. (Second is my daughter's precious Lovee Bah, *then* the scrapbooks!)
I, too, cleaned out my childhood home in the past couple of years. That's a tough one, Mike. I'm glad you survived the process without much distress. My dad was a hoarder, so we literally had to burn a lot of what was there. All the *things* my mom valued so much were deemed worthless. Ironically, the things she stuck in a closet 50 years ago and forgot were what turned out to have value. But, in the end, I curated the relatively few items that meant something to me and let the rest go. There are so many people I know who can't park their cars in their garage because it's accumulated a family member's possessions; worse, some are living on top of a family member's things because they can't "dismantle" their life.
The memories (the good ones) are really the only part that matters. Make those count.
Agreed. And thank you for such a beautiful comment, Michele.
Yes, this kind of hoarding, I guess it's pretty common? It makes me think that there is so much stuff in the world, and if some of it was more in circulation, there's be much less of a need for New Stuff. I know it's nowhere near that simple, but - the items that can be used, my anthropomorpizing kicks in and I imagine them waiting patiently but sadly to be rediscovered and to get back into the world to do what they're designed to do. Yet there's so much that gets hoarded that is way beyond that, beyond even upcycling into something else....
Also: I think about how possessions take a tiny part of bandwidth in our minds, a tiny bit of attention that's frustrating us. When oh WHEN will we get around to using that thing??!!? And in those cases, it must be better for everyone, including us, to just move those things on to someone who can use them immediately, instead of letting them vex us for years and years. I'm trying to remember this with my own stuff these days. It feels important.
Hooray for Harry Hound! The best of companions.
Words cannot even express how much I enjoyed this! 😁 Team Trevor and Weasel!
Thank you so much. :) Trevor and Weasel salute you!
Nice. Made me look for my Teddy, we’ve been together 60 years or so - he’s never far, but sometimes he does get neglected. Now out and lounging on the bed, as is appropriate.
60 years! That's wonderful. And exactly how it's supposed to work.
I think this really showcases the human superpower: the symbol. We do this to get through tough times, but we also do it to learn how to do things... EG, I loved playing Warcraft II and Civilization II on the PC during the mid 90s, and I think I learned an awful lot about how to run a business. The world was sort of symbolic of the larger business ecosystem I was entering.
Fully agree. Storytelling and symbolism into meaning and support. And I also with the Warcraft II and Civ II! But then I got hooked on city/colony builders (Pharaoh & Caesar 3, Sim City, the early Anno games) and in the weirdest of ways, I finally started learning how to manage my finances by increasing my income instead of just cutting my costs - that utterly critical mindset shift that's so important for the self-employed folk who want to grow. I will never stand by while someone argues that videogames are a waste of time without earshot of me...
Did you play D&D or any other tabletop games like that? I sure did!
I was encouraged when you said that stuffed toys had been attributed in ancient times to children, and asked whether we had jumped to conclusions. Archaeology is often about jumping to conclusions. Yet, when you quote Cannadine, although he guards himself with "perhaps", he does, when all's said and done, proselytise, as do we all in blogs.
The scientifically unprovable is the greatest secret to the beholder, and the greatest mystery to the observer and, once the observer has concluded in its scientific unprovability, then he can summon such ideas as pareidolia, anthropomorphism, superstition, or madness, as much as he pleases, but, in his world of hard evidence and established fact - wherever that exists - he can never enter the anthroposophical world of the phenomenon's existence in the eyes of its beholder.
"Perhaps" is as close as he can get, because, by his science, he locks himself out of the Denkweise of him of whom he attempts to gain the measure, which can be achieved only with measures beyond his ken and ability.
Blimey.
I loved reading this!
Time to let go of the idea of “being an adult” and realize this simple truth: there’s a child in each of us who dearly loves his teddy bears. 🧸
Couldn't agree more. And not too far under the surface, too.
Kids may not know much about how the world works at first, but during that learning process, they also pick up a lot of over-complicated or just plain daft grown-up ways of thinking about things. (The first chapter of Alexandra Horowitz's "On Looking" has a lot to say about that, to its huge credit.) It'd be nice if someone could keep reminding us not to grow up *too* much.
I guess we can remind each other. Your article is a reminder. My article about being children in adult bodies is a reminder. The kids in our life are a reminder.
If we all do it, we won’t forget.
I have teddy and bunny, both very threadbare - teddy has no eyes, two other teddies and a couple of toy dogs tucked up in the bed in my spare room. It's winter here and very cold, and I pile the blankets on them when it's an especially cold night, say hello every morning and goodnight every night. Am I a hopeless case? I don't think so, but that's just my opinion.
I think you were born with heroic levels of empathy. :)
Great post. I have a baby dragon softie on my bed. My adult children laugh at me, but I don't care. Love that dragon - she gives the room 'person'ality. Love Teddies too. 💜
They won't be laughing when they grow up. They'll understand when that happens. :)
Loved this. Also love that my oldest son who is in his 50’s has his teddy bear on his book shelf.
Thanks, Sally. I'm glad I'm not the only guy with one! I mean, er, ALLEGEDLY, *cough*.
After just losing my mom and working through that grief and the funeral to come this touched my heart, as much about the attachment to inanimate objects as the attachment to a lifestyle I've lived with so long. Now it will be my turn to sort through 1/2 a lifetime of things but her handmade bunnies were always with her and they will now be forever with me until my children take them on.
I'm so sorry for your loss, Debbie, and I'm glad this piece resonated. And I love that youre already making plans to pass along the handmade bunnies - it's weirdly comforting to think of some of our prized possessions outlasting us? At least I find it so, and especially so when we make a conscious choice to pass them along...
I still have my stuffed tiger that my parents gave me on my first birthday (they thought it would be fun to let me choose the toy). Its foam stuffing is a bit crunchy after 65 years and I’d love to be able to restore it.
First birthday! How wonderful - a journey taken through the world together.
I am feeling the need to buy a bear. Loved this post!!!
DO IT. I dare you. And I dare you to find a bear with a history.
A dare - well then! I do have a very special dog that I hope you’ll accept. Its history is personal to me. It’s weighted so that it fits soothingly in my hand and it got me through some very low points. Just looking at it makes me smile.