Clyde was the most valuable thing in my life. In monetary value he was lucky to be worth a few pence, but to me he was the world; my world. A scruffy brown and white dog teddy, with one ear that had been sewn back on umpteen times, another ear that was somewhere unknown, lost before I could remember even having seen it. His fur was totally matted, and he had bald patches over him from where I had been doing one of two things: Rubbing or Sniffing. He had a wee noob for a tail. That too was bald, no fur what so ever, you could see the criss cross netting thing in the material beneath where the fur would have been.
When I was a teenager I thought it would be cool to take Clyde out when I was hanging about with my friends. I left him in our local sports centre. Therein lies my fault; I LEFT him. No idea why or how I could have forgotten about him, but I did. I later heard that some of my male friends had taken him to give back to me, but boys being boys I’m sure they tormented the poor little fella and lost him. I never saw him again. To say I was distraught is a MASSIVE understatement. Heart-broken, devastated, disappointed…
A few months ago I met one of these boys in a pub. He told Marco and I that I went round to his house and threatened to batter him (fight him) if he didn’t give me Clyde back. Hs mum had to shoo me away from the door. I don’t actually remember this story, but I do think it is quite likely to have happened. I like the fact that 16/17 years later he still knows Clyde’s name.
Over the years I have had a few new pals, 1 Jimmy and 2 Bobo’s.
At the moment I have 3 (making up for lost time!) Hobo, Gobo and Bobo. Maybe I cherish my current teddies so much because of the feelings I felt when I lost my prized childhood possession.
I take them to bed with me, I snuggle them and I sniff them. My boyfriend is so amazingly wonderful that he doesn’t mind. I’m 30 and love teddies. I’m 30 and suck my thumb. Lots of people say this is a sign of insecurity. Maybe when I was younger dealing with my parents divorce or other young troubles it was. Now it is a habit and a great comfort even when I don’t REALLY need it. A ten minute thumb suck is as rejuvenating for me as a one hour power nap.
And my true feeling on the whole thing is, yes, it is a wee bit strange, but it’s not a sign of insecurity. The fact that I do it around my friends, and can openly talk about it is a sign of security. Being secure with who I am. So many people try to hide who they really are. Why? No matter what weird stuff you get up to other people out there probably do weirder. (In my instance I know someone who can’t sleep without a CAGOUL (raincoat) in her bed, that she rubs between her feet while sucking her thumb)
The only thing we truly can be is ourselves 🙂