Giving away "Teddy-bear"

For a bit of a while, Dickie doll was my very best favorite toy. He arrived in a long rectangular box which was alongside another long rectangular box with Diane doll in it. These twins were named upon their birth as they entered our family, up the elevator into our 6^th floor apartment at 41-14 10^th Street, LIC, Queensbridge projects from Heshey’s toy store on the lower east side of NYC. I think they were placed on the Cherrywood coffee table in our small living-room. It was the late 1940’s, so very long ago.

          I was the older sister; the choice of dolls was not necessarily my birthright but with enough whining about age and place in the family being important, I got to choose first, and so I picked the boy doll. He had curly back hair made of some silky material, blue eyes that moved up and down, with long eye lashes. He was rubbery in some parts and cottony in others; he had no body parts to differentiate him from Diane except his short hair and clothing-- red corduroy pants and vest, yellow turtleneck and tiny black patent leather shoes. Diane doll was so ordinary to me, like any other girl doll, blond curls, the same blue eyes, pink cheeks and a beautiful dress, anklet socks and patent leather t-strap shoes. Who wanted that?

          Dickie doll dominated Diane, played rough but had to play with girls’ things since we two sisters didn’t have toys or things for boys. We wished we did- erector sets or electric trains but we didn’t. So instead we played school, very much a girl thing then, played mommy, played with coloring things. Little did I know then that this play paralleled real life. Girls relegated to girls; boys to boys and “house” at least until we got older and became aware of each other.

Dickie doll remained my favorite but for not a very long time. I was a fickle child. He got replaced by Saucy Walker and her sister. Very big dolls that when placed in front of me, could be encouraged to move their legs and walk. One for me and one for my sister. I let her choose the one with the colored dress she liked better. I was also a generous child! And these dolls in time got replaced by Ginny dolls for whom we could pick clothes we wished we could have. 

          All this time I was conflicted, though. You see, from birth TEDDY was my loyal friend and really the very best favorite toy. He had a place of honor on the pillow on the bedspread on my bed. I had to tell him often that Dickie and Saucy and Ginny didn’t ever really take his place but I was growing up and eventually toys would be gone from my life. They’d be replaced by records and art supplies and stationary with beautiful deigns on which I’d write my new best friends. I knew TEDDY BEARS were not like the real things, dolls, and even dolls were not real like babies or teenagers. But these dolls I had could drink from a bottle, they could pee and were called Betsy-Wetsy. They could wear the diapers a girl knew she would have to deal with one day, and have clothes a little girl dreamed of for all seasons and occasions. Not so for a bear.

          Years passed. Dickie was long gone; Saucy was tossed out. Ginny just fell apart. Life was too much for them. But Teddy to this day remains. His ear is a little torn and droopy, his nose button somewhere in space and his furry coat not so furry and worn in places. Teddy wears the baby shoes given to me at birth, falling apart too. I want to give Teddy away, a good substantial home, leave him in my will or trust, provide him with the right things to say when I can no longer say them. And hope he has the dignity to keep my secrets. But he is the best toy- ever faithful, a good and a part of my 77 years. So what do I now do when I still know what I am doing, or do I do it vis a vis a last will and testament when I might not even know who I have become?

          There is my adult niece, a girl, a possibility. She knows lots about my life; she shared time with my wonderful mother, her grandmother who gave me the toy in the first place. But she I know has her own Teddy, so to speak. She will not want mine and certainly will not want to someday have to decide to whom to give him.

          There are my sons, adults with their own memories and favorite toys to keep, toss or donate. I gave them those toys. I dare not ask where they live today. I dare not. 

          There is my grand-daughter, a part of my life, too, loving and adorable. Would she want Teddy? I remember buying her a mammoth toy in the LA Science museum. She named “it” and promised always to keep it by her side. That was a long time ago, too. Ellie has long gone to the never Neverland; not even her ashes remain. Hmmm! The grand-daughter might still be the best choice. Teddy would amuse her friends in her dorm when she goes off to college; Teddy could be the mascot of her travel lacrosse team and make the other teens smile. He could even wear the teams’s colors. Teddy maybe could be at the wedding if she has one, or more, in years to come. Probably I’ll be gone. Maybe Teddy can be given to her first child like he was given to my mom when I was the first to be born. Maybe. But I can’t know.

          And then there is the other grandchild, and fair has to be fair- he needs to be considered even though he is male and only 7. What would he do with Teddy? Dress him in fatigues? Arm him with weapons? Sit him in front of an i-pad to watch Mario Bros. And as he grows, poor Teddy might live on the floor of a closet.  Oh, dear me! The dilemma intensifies.

          This is now, the time of virus and elections and people starving and life changing every second. I can’t deal with another decision right now. I spoke frankly about it with Teddy. “Your time will come,” I say. I promise him to make the best choice at the best time. I am good for my word. “You will not be tossed away, become flotsam or jetsam, detritus of a past time.” You will continue on, another ear may flop, you might lose more of your coat, and your “words” may be kinder and gentler or silenced. But you shall prevail and live on. Count on it.