The panda bear I’ve had since my first memories – and possibly
a few years before, has been given a new home.
He now sits on a bar stool in the dining room looking out over the front
gate. This isn’t because we were worried
he wasn’t getting enough natural light but as part of a neighbourhood “Bear Hunt”
activity. With lockdown in place and
people being advised to only go out once a day, people are coming up with ways
to make the daily walk around the block as fun as possible for the little
people. And so, in houses around our little patch, there are teddy bears looking
out of windows.
In recent months Bean has taken to sleeping with Panda at
night. He has a huge pile of teddies in the
corner of his room and whilst Bug has 3 favourites he rotates between, Bean is
much more random. Sometimes he insists
on snuggling with a solitary lego figure, other nights he’ll take somebody like
Panda who is half the size of him. So
often over the years I’ve wondered why I’ve held onto some of my childhood
bears – I’m certainly not engaging with them at all. But then, every now and then they get chosen
and in emotional pang the makers of Toy Story would be proud of, I see my child
snuggled up with my childhood favourite and all is well in the world.
