I had several. A blanket I remember through a haze of thirty-plus years as white with light blue bear-creatures. I think it somehow fit into the hand with the thumb-sucking thumb, and was rubbed softly back and forth across the bridge of the nose while the other hand was busy twirling hair into knots. Ithink it disintegrated completely. After that was Bear, beloved and eyeless. And Elefante, cream colored calico with a skinny trunk, stuffed with saran wrap. And George, the red track-suit wearing monkey that I bought myself at the Ben Franklin with $11 worth of stockpiled allowance.
My little brother's first love objects were an assortment of die-cast tractors and a plastic hammer he carried around in a bag. At night he'd take each tractor out and lay it on the pillow so his head was surrounded and protected. He'd name them as he laid them down. Allis Chalmers, John Deere, and the attachable anhydrous ammonia tank. The hammer was clutched in his fist all night.
Anna's daddy had a blanket with a "special place" with a hole for the thumb to fit through and thus peg the blanket to the face whilst thumb-sucking.
As for Anna, she'll choose her own at some point.
Love object - early practice at loving something selflessly, completely, sweetly, desperately enough to pitch fits over. How about you? What love object did you carry and suck on and sleep with and rub into dust? What blanket or piggy or bunny or scrap of old shirt? Do you still have it? Do tell.
I had a stuffed raccoon named Rocky. I didn't drag him around so much as I just confessed everything to him. Long, long nights were spent with me telling Rocky pretty much everything I had to say. He got lost in a move. After that, I guess my secrets only belonged to me. What a lonely thought.
ReplyDeleteI had a stuffed Koala Bear named Koalie. I loved this bear more than anything in the world and he was always there for me. Most of my childhood tears were cried into his soft polyester fur. He developed a hole in his neck, I would stuff treasures into his belly. Anna's father, my brother Paul, had the best time torturing my poor Koalie and thus torturing me, hanging him by a rope around his neck in the doorway, or pulling out some of his stuffing through is neck hole and leaving it next to him like he was bleeding to death. Paul would lay in wait for the "total freak out" I would have when finding my best friend being tortured or in danger, this I think was Pauls favorite childhood game, torture the koalie...poor koalie.
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