LOVE | CHILDHOOD

Saved By Stuffed Animals (Again)

Some relationships survive the years

There just aren’t enough smiles in this world.

There aren’t enough… hugs.

In this quest for more smiles, more hugs from across the miles, here’s a brief tale that might do the trick.

After years of pleading on my part, last year mom and dad finally started downsizing a bit back home. Bins and boxes were reopened. Dusty attics and damp basements were re-explored. And trinkets, treasures and junk were sifted into piles.

“I found Jinx,” Mom said, her voice questioning over the phone. “I thought I’d save it for the grandkids but… do you want him? Do you want me to send it to you?”

Now let me tell you, my mother is single-handedly keeping the United States Post Office in business these days. Handwritten cards, assembled packages and big postage bills are a part of her weekly routine. So my knee-jerk response was, “Nah, that’s okay, no need to spend the money.”

And yet.

I don’t know if it was the aftermath of the pandemic years, finally being on the other side of my scary mental health battle or just a new-found clarity that was crystal clear, but for whatever reason I said —

“Yeah, sure — send him.”

And promptly forgot about it.

About a week later the mysteriously large yet lightweight box arrived.

I opened it and had a little gasp. A catch in my throat. My cheeks tightened into a wide smile as I encountered a multi-emotion, unexpected moment.

He’d been purchased when I was six or seven. At some rummage sale sort of thing at a nearby elementary school. I wasn’t very creative in coming up with my own name for him, so Mom and Dad suggested Jinx, after a real-life dog they’d briefly owned as a young couple.

And the name stuck.

He wasn’t a huge part of my childhood. He wasn’t my always-in-hand security blanket, at least not that I remember. But he certainly went to sleep with me nightly, resided on my bed while I was away at school.

Now here I was, age 49, and he was again staring back at me.

And I was deeply moved — I guess just that my little-kid self had survived, had made it through some really rough and unfulfilling adult years, and now here I was in life, having turned a corner, having found my purpose in writing and travel and creativity, returning to “childlike things,” and happier than I’d been in decades.

If he’d arrived any year before I would have set him aside forever or passed him along to some kid. But here he is at just the right time to be meaningful again, as I’m emotionally open to such random and ridiculous moments of synchronicity.

And smiling more.

I’m the first one to proselytize and preach about minimalism and downsizing. The last thing we need is more stuff.

But I’ll be keeping Jinx.

He’s a nice reminder of my — if not full-circle — then half-circle moment in this life.

Some things are just silly. You can’t give an explanation. They just are.

You can read every self-help book, listen to every podcast, binge-watch YouTube videos from your favorite guru. But sometimes it’s the little things, and all you need is some history with a stuffed animal to find those smiles, to give those hugs that the world so desperately needs.

Jinx will be staying.

Alas, much to the chagrin of our grumpy cat.

Oh well. He adjusted.

(Pssst, laughter is a good thing, too.) Peace, folks, thanks for reading.

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