I hardly remember being with my siblings, each of them just like me. When my cover was shiny and new. With store hours of waiting and watching new children, wondering if one might be ours. We all hoped to be at the front, but not one to earn early scars.
What I do remember well, is the moment my boy picked me up, and grinning, carried me to the front desk. His mother’s face was nice as she paid, then I was nestled in a plastic bag. I swung and bounced in the bag, but I didn’t mind much, my boy was carrying me home. I hoped my corners would stay crisp, but he picked me himself, so he wouldn’t be too harsh.
We cuddled with his mother numerous times, and I shared with them my story. I got to play as a shelter to toys, as well as a stage, and a plane. My words and my pictures were shared with friends, cars, and army men. A time or two the pictures were changed and my words were not always read the same. But I enjoyed the time I had until I was forgotten and left on the shelf. A little more worn and a little more full, I shift from shelf to shelf.
A few times I’ve sat with a wise old book and hoped I could be as loved as he. Then mostly I sat with books about my age, with our bright colors and maybe a missing or torn page. The large, wise book was worn by gentle aged hands, but my friends and I used to really play. With all of my adventures and games I’ve joined, I hold more than a story and pictures to share.
My cover is now dated and my pages gone yellow. I have sat ignored for some time. But recently now, once in a while, there’s noises and messes nearby and my friends and I get to comply. A man comes with the chaos, my boy, now with a little less hair. Amid the games of teepee and museum for dolls, I get to join in a cuddle with my boy and his littles.
The best moment of all is when I join in those cuddles, to share all that I have within. I once shared just one story, with pictures and words. But no longer shiny and new, I have changes and scars, and each one of them adds to my story that’s shared.
