Teddy

Here’s something I wrote for The Guardian.


The lost teddy

It was 8.10pm and I was running through the dark streets, desperately searching. Just as I was about to concede defeat, I spotted him. He was near the corner pub, lying lifelessly on the nature strip.  I looked upward to thank the heavens, then messaged my partner: I’ve found Teddy.

Teddy was my child’s, well, teddy. The two were inseparable.  He did all that a good ‘transitional object’ should do – helped Holly get to sleep and soothed her when she was upset. But Teddy was much more than that; he was her confidante, cub, dance partner, hanky, sunshade, plate, mop and weapon.

Just a couple of years in the job had taken its toll on Teddy. A once handsome, light-brown bear, he’d become matted and filthy. He looked, as my partner cruelly observed, like a rag with a head. But Holly adored him and that made him priceless. If we couldn’t find him, Holly wouldn’t sleep. If Holly didn’t sleep, neither could we. And thus it was that a ragged bear became the central figure of our family.

Understanding the precariousness of our situation, we bought back-up bears – a gaggle of understudies if we lost the main man. None fooled Holly. They were too fluffy, too odourless or their eyes were too close together. And although we tried to age them (rolling them in the dirt and squishing them under mattresses), she knew.

Holly was our only child then, though it was like we had two. When we hired a babysitter, we emphasised that, while Holly was important, so was Teddy and he should be included in any head count. When the babysitter returned from taking Holly to the park one day, she burst through the door: ‘Is Teddy here?’ she asked frantically. We assured her that he was, and relief washed over her.

Unhelpfully, Teddy was the master of camouflage – especially at bedtime – his nondescript ratty colour ensuring that he blended perfectly into bathmats, carpets and upholstered dining chairs.

It also didn’t help that Holly would habitually fling him out of the pram – maybe she was practising the adage ‘if you love them, set them free’.  More likely she was testing us. We found him in the library, the café, the gutter and even on the road – clearly a hit-and-run victim as he was even flatter than before and had a tyre mark down his front.

Somehow Teddy always found his way back to us.

Except that one day he didn’t.

One wintry day, Teddy wasn’t in the pram. Or at home or the park. After so many false alarms, I was confident he’d show up. We just had to look harder. We retraced our steps, looked in bushes and posted a LOST BEAR sign in the local neighbourhood Facebook group (all we got was twenty-two sad face reactions).

But this time he didn’t show up. He was definitely gone.

Holly was inconsolable, and so were we. In desperation we pulled out the back-up bears. That failed. We tried other, similar soft toys. But she wouldn’t have it.

A few weeks later, something odd happened. She chanced on one of the spare bears in her toy box.

‘It’s Teddy!’ she cried. ‘He’s back.’

He clearly wasn’t, and I studied her, trying to work out what was happening.

‘Er, yes… he’s back!’ I said, playing along. ‘And he’s so fluffy as he’s been… out in the rain?!’

OK, so I wouldn’t have won an Oscar for that dialogue, but I didn’t need to. I padded out the story, adding in bits about where he’d been and not having a hairdryer to tame his wild fur.

With Teddy’s ‘return’, I thought we would slip back into the swing of things, but it was never quite the same. Our enthusiasm for the new guy was a little forced. Holly knew that we knew but perhaps she was just trying to create an alternative and comforting reality; or finding a way to leave Teddy on her own terms as she gradually shifted her attention to a little mauve unicorn.

Now we have a second child, and her choice cuddly toy is an owl. We’ve learnt our lesson and bought five birds, diligently rotating them so that each is worn down equally and infused with the home scent. Already we’ve lost three.

I think I’d better sew a GPS tracker into each of the last two.

One of our near misses
Teddy

8 thoughts on “Teddy

  1. What a sweet article. Reminds me of my daughter’s childhood attachment to a loved toy that drove me to all kinds of schemes to protect it for as long as humanly possible. No GPS though!

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  2. Wow. . . It’s like Teddy and our sons Rabbit have been living parallel lives with diffrent families! The frantic searching in the early evenings, finding him placed on walls, road signs and one time in the gutter. The blending into to every day furnishings and hiding in plain sight for hours and when no 2 son arrived the purchasing and rotating of a number of “brothers” identical to his “Badger”.

    Thank you for highlighting the beautiful bond between our children and their first ever best friend and the resilience of our small humans.

    .

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  3. One day, as I went to the supermarket, I found a lost monkey on the pavement. It must have been there for a while as it was rather filthy.
    I picked it up, brought it home and then posted photos of it on all local Facebook groups I could find. But no one ever claimed the monkey.
    Eventually, I put it in the washing machine and introduced it to our then 1-year-old daughter, and she loved it. We called it ‘Lost Doudou’. A while later, the story repeated itself with a rabbit, known as ‘Lost Rabbit’.
    Lost Doudou and Lost Rabbit never became our daughter’s favourite, but they are vital members of the gang, getting involved in all the multi-player games that our now four-year-old invents daily.

    Teddy was vital for your daughter, but I like to think it’s still giving joy to a child, somewhere. Being knows as ‘Lost Teddy’.

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  4. Hi Kell,

    This story reminded me of Kevin throwing, from memory, Judy and Mary out of the car! You never really were all that attached to Judy but Ween was very attached to Mary. Or maybe only one of them was chucked out.

    Holly’s teddy is rake thin! Interesting she likes that one.

    Like

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