How I Learned To Hate My Teddy Bear


I have so many artifacts in my house from my childhood.   I almost feel like the old man in Tusk when he starts in on the “I’ve had a long and storied life”.   I’m not yet at the age where I think it’s long.   Actually I believe it’s been a short life.   While I’m shortly going to be turning forty, I still feel alot of the time that I’m twelve.   My office is surrounded by toys and artifacts.   I’ve had artifacts I’ve lost over the years, some never even made it out of childhood.   However, they are all precious things.   Things that only I can cherish, that will be junk to all others after I’m gone.   I’m still hoping that my stories will go on generations past my time, but who knows?

A few years after I moved out of the house and had my own place, I received a package that contained my outfit that I was brought home from the hospital in, my baby teeth, and my first two teddy bears.   Sadly the only thing I vaguely aware of where it exists is my outfit and second teddy bear.   I wonder if I left that teddy bear behind in a forgotten way subconsciously.    This teddy bear specifically cracked my head open, yet I never let my family knew.

This teddy bear was probably very modern in the 1970s.   It stayed in my room until I at least moved out.   It had a music box inside and I remember it still being in room when I was a teenager.   It was my first teddy bear, and even though in the later years I held a grudge against it – I couldn’t throw it out.  It had a music box that calmed infant and toddler me to sleep.   I tried to go through old pictures but none of them seemed to have a picture of me with that bear.

I’m guessing I was around five or six years old.   I’m fairly certain of that since I’m 99% sure that my brother was around.   I seem to be remember his wooden rocking horse in the room witnessing that whole thing.   My brother was likely in the playpen with the fold down sides.  It was yellow with a zoo animal print covering the metal and white netting to contain the child within.   I only remember it so well since it was originally mine.


This was the design, but I think the pattern was different

My grandparents (Gee and Pa) were over babysitting my brother and I.    I was being a normal five or six year old and not listening.   I was running around playing with my best friend the teddy bear.   We were running through the kitchen loop in the condo.   We were going up and down the stairs.   We were flying through the air.   At the point the teddy bear was flying through the air I was told to stop that.   Gee obviously saw the possible complication coming.   I waited until she left the room to make some food in the kitchen – and then I continued anyway.

I was tossing the bear into the air almost hitting the ceiling.   I would catch him on the way down.   Likely I was mimicking how my dad would throw my brother or I into the air.   It was all fun.   Fun and games until I misjudged either my throw or my catch.   The bear, with the built-in wind-up music box, came crashing down on my head.  My first instinct was to cry, but I knew that would only alert my Gee.   This would also mean I would likely get some scolding or punishment.   I choked the tears down.   I reached up to feel the bump on my head.  It was wet.   I looked at my fingers and there was blood on them.  It always it fun and games until someone gets hurt.   Then it isn’t so fun anymore.

I was in pain, bleeding, and I didn’t want to get into trouble.   I immediately rushed upstairs to my room.   Likely I had a cry session up there.   I also monitored the bleeding to make sure it wasn’t to the point that I would have to get Gee involved.   From my memory the only blood that occurred was from that initial it.  Likely it caused a scrape and no major damage (or we can blame that bear for everything in life that has happened since).   I don’t remember much more blood but the bump was there.   Luckily for my young self I had a think head of hair like in the picture above.

I checked in the bathroom and there was no visual signs I was hurt.    There was no obvious blood.   The bump was sufficiently hidden under my mane.   I could get away with this.   I then wandered downstairs to have dinner.   Nothing was said.  I didn’t admit anything.   I wasn’t questioned about anything.  I did get away with this.  My grandmother in theory could still scold me, but I think after thirty some years I would just get away with it at this point.

This whole incident changed my relationship with that bear.   It no longer was a companion.   It wasn’t something I would haul around.   It was a relic of my days as a baby.  This is a specific moment that I can that I grew up a little and left a little bit of my childhood behind.   The idea of that hurts a little.   I was still young enough when it happened that I blamed the bear with the big hunk of metal in it.   It wasn’t the bear’s fault though (obviously).  I hope that one day the bear pops up again.   Lost in a box buried at the top of the garage.  Just waiting for the day he can be shown off.   However, I do have a seven year old – and the bear has already had it’s taste of human blood.   You can never really trust a teddy bear again that has wetted it’s snout with human blood.  Five or six year old me will attest to that one.

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