Stored away, they remain close to author’s heart
by Maxwell Smerka
With my birthday coming up, I can’t help but feel awkward. I can’t help but wonder, why this one?
In the back of my closet at home, I keep a big, clear, zippered bag packed tightly with my stuffed animals from childhood. There are easily more than 20 stuffed animals of different shapes and species crammed in the bag.
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More than a trinket from China
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The bag has not been opened in years, however I could name every animal and tell you the size and how I got it. For example, there is the first stuffed animal I ever got as a child, Max the moose, and I remember a small bear named, “Beans” I was given by the hospital when I had hernia surgery in the third grade.
Growing up has always been an aspect of life of which I have never been very fond. Losing my childish spirit would be the worst, because it would make life much less entertaining. I believe I have told myself this because my father is such a child.
Every day when he came home from work and walk through the front door, my brother and I would bullrush him, screaming “Papa Bear,” or some other nickname.
My Dad would immediately drop his workbag, then walk as far as he could with two large boys hanging from him like monkeys from a tree. Once my younger brother and I released ourselves from him, he would wrap his arms around each of us, one at a time, to lift us as high as he could, like a re-enactment of Mufasa hoisting Simba up to the kingdom when he was first born.
Dad the hero
Because his parents were divorced while he was still young, my Dad had to mature much sooner than perhaps he wanted; he became the man of the house, caring for his younger sister. He has been more than just my Dad, but the older brother I never had, helping me discover who I am.
He would always ask me, “What do you want to do?” I would reply with whatever he was doing.
During winters in Connecticut, many times I would end up sitting on the frozen-over Butterworths pond, in the frigid cold, and decide to go ice fishing with my Dad. Sitting on the frozen ice, freezing and not catching a lot of fish may not sound exciting, but to me it was the world because I got to be just like my father.
He even bought me a child shaving kit when I was in early elementary school, so I could shave like him, or, more accurately, turn my face into a cream pie and the bathroom into a mess.
Growing older, I find myself no longer mimicking his actions but becoming the same man as him. The two of us have the same body language, the same temper, and most of all the same values.
Striving to be like my father for so long has made us almost identical.
Being the same as my father does not scare me, but I do fear losing my inner child, just as my father did for a while when we first moved to Georgia. Settling into his new job he was quite stressed, often losing sleep right along with the fun part of his personality. The two of us tend to shut down when we are too strung out.
I have been coping with this fear since high school, when I first started to see how quickly life could change. Storing my inner child in the back of my closet in a transparent, zipped bag makes me feel I can grasp onto it for just that much longer.
While at home, I look in on the bag at least once a week, including this past winter break. I never touch the bag; just seeing it recalls my childhood.
My mother has asked me hundreds of times if she could give the animals away, which sparks anger inside me. To me losing each animal would be like losing a moment from my past. Each furry friend is a memento I am able to cherish.
One day I will overcome my anxiety of not only losing my animals but my childhood, and when I do I plan to donate them to a hospital or orphanage, so the children there too can have a friend that will never grow up.