When I was 6 years old I got some money for my birthday. My mom took me to a store and I picked out a Winnie the Pooh. He sat high on a shelf – well, high for me anyway – with 20 or so look-alike Poohs. He was yellow. He wore a red crop top with the word “Pooh” embroidery on it in yellow thread and no pants. At the time that didn’t seem strange to me, now I think he looks like he just stepped out of a gay pride parade. Anyway, he was terrific.
Many stuffed animals and plastic dolls have come and gone in my life. There was Drowsy – who when you pulled her string told you how tired she was. There was the red mouse that someone gave me when I was a baby. There was Gronk. Don’t ask me what Gronk was – i don’t really know. Just sort of a greenish roundish thing with purple feet and a big black mouth. Sounds frightening, I know, but he was very squishy and that made up for it. There was Roly Poly- a little stuffed dog. And a grey elephant I named Mine when I was going through a very protective stage of development. In fact, I had so many stuffed animals that my parents made a rule that I could only sleep with two each night. It sounds severe here but believe me, I was in danger of being evicted from my bed by Raggedy Ann, Andy and all their comrades.
So two animals it was. One of those would change nightly. But one was always Pooh.
Always.
I was sick a lot when I was a kid. So was my father. Between the two of us, I spent a lot of time in hospitals. When you’re a kid and you’re afraid, certain stuffed friends become very important to you. I can’t think of my childhood without thinking of Pooh – and the whole Pooh clan.
I’m 36 now. Drowsy was lost long ago. Roly Poly and others were sold at garage and yard sales through the years and I have no idea what happened to Raggedy Ann and Andy. But I still have Pooh. He sits on a shelf in my basement. He has no eyes – lost those during my teen years to my Labrador puppy. He has no mouth – I picked that off during a particularly distressing bout of insomnia during one nap time. He had a tracheotomy performed by another dog of mine, Nick, and half his stuffing ripped out when I was in high school. I don’t remember when he lost his shirt but it is gone as well. Really all he is now is a yellow blob. A dirty, yellow blob of Pooh.
And when I read this today - Paul Winchell, voice of Winnie the Pooh's Tigger dies - I cried.
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