A bear with no name

He could use a warm, sudsy bath. But he won't get one. I simply couldn't risk scrubbing all the history off of him. Even his plastic nose will remain smudged with a much smaller version of my fingerprints. He was a gift to me when I was born, a present from my Mom's very best girlfriend.

When I hold him, I like to think of all the childhood treats that MIGHT have left a stain behind: DQ dilly bars, crackerjacks, cheerio bracelots, chiclets, candy cigarettes, tootsie roll pops, caramel bullseyes, and chocolate ice cubes. And the many UNedibles: rusty bottle caps, worms, robin egg shells, sandbox sand, butterflies, bugs and snails.

Nothing would please me more than to tell a few whimsical stories about him. But my memory holds none. 

Why do I keep him? Why do I feel attached to him? Well, we moved many, many times during my childhood, and this bear always made the trip. I have to believe that my Mom kept him safe for all these years for a reason.  : ) And besides, he didn't get THAT dirty sitting on a shelf.