In my room I keep a few old friends. One stuffie and two Cabbage Patch Kids reside in a basket on the top of my closet, and Bambi (my old blanket…no affiliation with Disney), is safely tucked away in my top dresser drawer.
You could say they’re in retirement. But believe me, they deserve it.
They’ve stuck with me through endless games of pretend, endured my rough hugs and tendency to drag them on the floor behind me. They were my tissue when I had a dribbly nose and didn’t mind holding my hand when it was full of (what can only be described as) sticky kid grime. Even when I weirdly demoted one of them from imaginary princess to imaginary janitor, they didn’t hold it against me. They were my friends.
I had other toys – mainly stuffies – that I’d pile into bed with me and refuse to sleep without. But eventually, through no fault of their own, they just kind of disappeared. It’s what happens when you grow up. The things you thought you cherished get packed up, given away, sold. And somewhere along the line, you forget.
Through my parents’ divorce, countless moves, new schools, new insecurities, new boyfriends, first apartments, first mortgage, new baby, new life…my core team has stayed by my side.
They look a little worse for wear. They might be missing a few key bits, and have the scars of impromptu surgeries with thread that have gone awry. But inside their soft, damaged little bodies they hold a history. One that is full of an intense, focused, careless love that only a child can master and only time can reveal.
I keep them high up and tucked away to protect them from little hands that want to grab and explore and see if these old things are worthy. But I can see them. They remind me how lucky it is when things grow old.
Do you still keep any of your old friends hanging around? Leave a comment and let me know. ↓