Corduroy

Toys were not made to wander through the mall. Toys were made to be played with. Toys were made for empathetic eyes, eyes that wouldn’t want them alone, wandering through the mall.

Child-me had these eyes. Every stuffed animal - dear. Every toy - significant. And what a crime it was, forgetting their significance, forgetting a toy. I knew they weren’t really living, not in the way you and I are. But I also knew they weren’t not living either. 

Maybe we had an extra organ as kids, churning empathy by the bucket. Overflowing onto what was ‘ours’ -  our toys. So we included, so none felt left out. We bundled, so none felt cold. And we always said goodbye, easing the pain of departure, hoping they wouldn’t get lonely. 

An organ that slows as years quicken. As ‘little girl’ grows into ‘mother.’ As “Look! There’s the very bear I’ve always wanted,” morphs into “he doesn’t look new.” 

What's interesting about the “child and toy” bond is that toys don't give much back. What does Corduroy really give back? All he is is a bear. A green jumper and a missing button. This, however, is enough for Lisa. Enough for her to give. She gives a home and a bed. A button and a hug. And nothing is asked in return. 

How often, as adults, do we pursue self-service. All the stuff, the relationships, the identity. It’s all for us. We are cats - chasing our own tails. Running to attain the prize of ourselves - a circular race, ending in nausea and stagnation. 

We’ve gained freedom, becoming adults. Freedom like money, far greater than Lisa's piggy bank. Freedom like time and space, doing whatever we want whenever we want. And what do we so often do with it? We eat it. Gorge ourselves on it. Yum. And despite this constant consumption, the bloat of “take take take,” we are never ever full. 

As a child, I remember being full. Tucking my stuffed animal into bed - I was full. Playing outside with my brothers - I was full. Wrapping homemade gifts for my parents - I was full.

I’m grown now, and though my flesh is often avoidant, I know this truth. The truth that being kind, even when I don't feel like it - makes me full. That serving that sick family member - makes me full. That listening to hurting people - makes me full. That putting you first and me last - makes me full. What's the big deal about giving a button - everything. To give, and to give freely, is everything. 

This truth, to love thy nieghbor, is knocking at the door. We adults must fight the urge to plug our ears. The urge to chase our tails. We adults must remember what it felt like, giving a bear a button.