Everyone has their own thing from their childhood; a blanket, pacifier, doll or teddy bear. To this day, both of my parents still have their own stuffed animals from when they were kids. My dad has a small, smooshed stiff panda bear with beady black eyes. My mom has a long, fuzzy and also squished lion whose fur feels like an old carpet from the 90s.
Of course, I still have mine as well. I remember the day that I first held it in my hands. I was two years old, and my parents, my brother and I were in a department store (I think it was Zellers) shopping when we noticed a little contest/game being held in the store. There were hula hoops with black nets around them. You had 3 balls, and you only needed to get 1 ball in the hoop to win a teddy bear. They were all the same, and I had to have one!
My brother and I each took a spot behind the table to throw our balls. However, one of the workers told me to wait as he emptied the other balls from the net for me. Of course, being me, I didn't listen and I threw the balls anyway. One landed directly on the back of the man's bald head. It would have been a bullseye inside the net if his head wasn't there.
My brother won a teddy bear, but the worker wouldn't give me any extra balls, saying that I had already used all three of mine. (Even though his big head was in the way) We started walking away, my brother's face full of triumph as he held his bear, and I crying alongside him.
My father felt bad for me, so he took me back to the stand and won a bear for me. From that day, I named the bear Fluffy, because obviously he was fluffy. I loved everything about him; his silk blue tie, his beady eyes and soft paws. I always treated the bear like my baby and even tucked him in to bed.
I remember one night around 9pm, I was about to be tucked in to bed (I think I was 5) and I suddenly remembered I left Fluffy in the backseat of the van. My mom didn't want me out in the dark, but I cried so hard that Fluffy would hate me if I left him in the van, so my mom took me out of the van to get him.
Whether he sat on my shelf, or had his own spot by my bed, I always took care of him. In high school I noticed that there was a tear in his tie. I was so upset I took my grandmother's sewing kit and tried to sew the tie back together. It seems to have worked as the thread still hasn't come out to this day.
Anyone else have/had a toy they treated like their own child?? Just me?? Ok.