Red and I finally got around to clearing out the house on Saturday. It was long overdue, given that we broke up in the summer of 2005, but procrastination is a long-standing talent of mine. Anyway, some of the things I have brought home with me have left me swimming in a sea of nostalgia. Some people (not to be specific, but, for example, Red) are able to completely separate “things” from “meaning”. I, on the other hand, find the two to be very much intertwined. This has been a lifelong problem for me.
I found my first teddy bear buried deep amongst boxes and boxes of “stuff” in the roofspace. Mum has a photo of me on the day I got him, lying in my cot at the tender age of 2 months, approximately the same size as the bear. He now looks impossibly tiny, but I figure that’s because I must have grown a little since the picture was taken. Teddy and I were inseparable for the first 12 years of my life. I couldn’t go to sleep unless I was holding him against my face, my nose buried in his fur. Mum washed him once, following a vomiting incident, and I was inconsolable for a week, because he smelt “clean”, and not “like Teddy”.
By the time I was 5 or 6, he was already quite threadbare, and his arms were a bit dangly. I remember climbing into my parents’ bed one lazy Saturday morning, and being completely spellbound as Teddy sat up in Dad’s hand and proceeded to wave at me. I told everybody about that morning. I was devastated when I realised – thanks to a less gullible and more streetwise friend a few years later – that Dad had just done some clever and deceitful puppetry with Teddy’s loose arm.
It was when I was halfway through first year that I became aware of how shameful and uncool it was to sleep with a teddy bear in your bed. At first I just tried to keep it quiet, guiltily hiding him when friends came round, and threatening my sister with violence should she ever give away my secret. However, the pressure of this secret life was too great for a 12-year-old to suffer, and reluctantly I decided I had to break free from my Teddy dependence.
The first night, I firmly and bravely placed him on top of the wardrobe with all the other cuddly toys. It was dire. Even when I closed my eyes, I could still see his loyal, grubby little face looking at me in hurt and confusion. Not understanding. Rejected. I lay awake for about an hour, wrestling with my guilt and sorrow. Then I got up and brought him back to bed. “I love you, Teddy,” I whispered guiltily. I really did. You’ve no idea of the intensity of my emotions that night.
Over the next few weeks, I weaned myself off him by way of a long, painful, gradual distancing regime. I started by laying him beside my head, on my pillow, without cuddling him. Then I moved him to the corner of the bed, where he sat propped up against the wall. He then moved to the bedside table, and eventually found himself on top of the wardrobe again. I can honestly say I never ceased to feel guilty every time I saw him looking forlornly at me from up there.
So the years went by, and little Teddy became a faint, fond memory. Which is how I found myself standing in an attic full of tat on Saturday, holding him in my arms and trying to retain my dignity (being a fully-grown woman, and all). What Red doesn’t know is that the second he left to take some boxes to my car, I had a little weep to myself. Not at the death of our relationship or anything, we’re both well over that! Goodness, no: I was standing in a fusty attic, surrounded by dusty rubbish, crying over a musty teddy bear, crippled with guilt at the realisation that I’d left him to languish there. Not only that, but I have since sprayed him with Febreze (whilst shielding his eyes) to mask the fustiness, and set him on my dressing table while I decide how best to clean him without putting him in the washing machine. His hanging-by-a-thread arms might fall off (and also he would drown and/or be very frightened).
I’m not normal, am I?
Filed under: animal cruelty, irrational behaviour, tears, weird
Awww hails, i share ur pain! ALAS – be thankful your teddy was not stolen from you!!! STOLEN in the night…. terrible terrible shame
i cried for weeks!!!
if anyone finds a monkey by the name of Merckson, send him my way. If anyone finds those responsible of his absence, tell them to run for their lives (and perhaps hide all their personal posessions…) He’s close… I can tell….
mwah ha ha ha ha ha ha…….
All I can say to missing merkson is you should have looked after him better instead of leaving him in the car or even thinking that he could come to church with you. All I can say to you Hails is that there is a bear who sits on our drawers in our room, who by the way came to my wedding dressed up in matching colours. He’s not mine- so I don’t think you are ever to old to keep your 1st bear!
When I moved to Ireland my personal belongings limit was very dire.
It was just some books, clothes, grooming bits and HUGE white teddy bear called Mymla. She hadn’t been with me since childhood but was very important nevertheless. So along she came.
Love that you said “whilst”. Now if only I could hear you say it in your lovely accent.
Thanks to all for solidarity-style comments about bears.
AB – Had to ask The Housemate what the big deal was, and I’m told you lot have issues with that word because you don’t use it? It’s a perfectly valid word! There are grammatical rules pertaining to its use!!
Have just had rather aggressive argument with TH over this.
Oh Hails,
You should know better than to have grammatical rules discussions with TH…no,no,no…if you recall, this is the girl who came up with “Big John on the Farm”. Oh dear, must i give you a TH tutorial? You know i love her dearly, but really…grammar? Miss you friend
i still have a.g. you can find him sitting nicely on my bed propped up against the pillows. yes, i even brought him to ni with me! you’re not alone…
Hails-Please understand, that whilst we don’t use the word “whilst” often over here, it is a dearly loved word in my vernacular. We’re (myself and McCooney) are trying to bring it back.
I’m sorry for yet another comment, but I just realized that the grammar in my last comment was off. The last sentence should have read, “McCooney and I are trying to bring it back.” Please forgive my flagrant disregard for the grammatical rules you mentioned before.
Love you!
Whilst I have nothing to say about bears, I did feel the need to leave a comment.
HELLO HAYLEY! (and also HELLO AB AND MCCOONEY!)
Before Dirk notices, I think you should replace your Teddy dependance with dependence. This message will self-destruct when correction has been made.
It’s all falling apart. That wasn’t even a typo, I genuinely debated whether it was a or e and didn’t have time to check. I’ve lost my superiority!!
You can buy dry powder stuff for carpets that’ll clean your teddy bear. It’s called Wonder-something. You can get it from Betterware. Or, you could get one of those wee dry-cleaning kits. I’d just sponge it with fabric cleaner, though. That way, Teddy gets a sponge bath and smells nice.
Failing all of the above suggestions, take him to a Doll’s Hospital and get him fixed. Yes, they do exist.
I’ve had experience with yucky teddy bears from the attic!
Poor old ted! If he could talk I wonder what tales he would tell?
if i had only known how dear he was i would have bathed him and talked to him and took him out on picnics.had always wondered what all that wimpering noise in the attic was.
[...] The Swiss girl continues to stare at Eeyore, who is staring gloomily up at her from between a sock-stuffed trainer and a bag of plastic forks. Eeyore’s presence in my bag, and indeed in my life, knocks at least another 10 Cool Points off my already quite dismal score, and yet I can’t quite seem to resolve this by just getting rid of him. When I moved away, I left the Eeyore decision until the very last minute. I even put him into the suitcase of Things I Can’t Bear To Throw Away, to be stored by The Parents. He looked sadly up at me, and I firmly closed the lid and walked away to do something else. I only made it about four steps away before I turned and retrieved him from the case, in much the same way that I lifted Teddy down from the wardrobe all those years ago. [...]