I believe it was the Christmas when I was five years old; we were living on a farm in Denton County. I remember he was sitting under our big Christmas tree with a red ribbon tied around his neck. He was a little black and white panda bear with large shiny eyes.
I was afraid he might be for my baby brother, but no, he was for me. Surely I received other gifts that Christmas, but I don't remember.
Through the years I played with this bear, dressing him up in my doll clothes and pulling him in my little red wagon. He was invited to my tea parties. I must have been very protective of him since I remember putting him away from my little brother.
I left him outside once under a large tree and Daddy had to go out in the middle of the night and rescue him before a heavy rainstorm. Once he was lost for several days after he fell behind a bale of hay in the barn loft where I was playing.
Time passed and with the appearance of other toys, my bear spent most of his time sitting on a shelf in my room. Oh, I'm sure I sometimes took him down, but mostly he just sat as if watching over me. He was the last thing I saw before the light was out at night, and he was always there in the morning. From time to time when I was ill, or just feeling sad, I put him in my bed and slept with my cheek against his soft fur.
I was ten years old when my family moved to my father's homeplace, the Moses Hubbard estate east of Celina, and of course my bear came along. One day he just disappeared. In my excitement of a new home and new territory to explore, I'm afraid I didn't even notice or miss him.
It must have been a month or more after his disappearance, while Mother was drawing water from an old cistern to water her house plants, that she discovered him. She saw something dark floating in the water and feared it was a cat that had fallen into the well and drowned. Daddy was finally able to get the object into a bucket and draw it up. It was my soggy bear.
Although my brother never confessed, the evidence was clear. He had thrown my bear in the well. Not maliciously, I'm sure. He probably just wanted to see if the bear could swim.
Daddy was for throwing the dirty thing away, but I cried. So Mother squeezed the water out of him, washed him with soap and clean water, and hung him by his ears on the clothesline to dry.
As he dried, the stuffing hardened, most of his fur fell out, his eyes rusted, and one fell off. He really was a sorry-looking sight, but I still loved him. So once again he sat safe and sound on a shelf in my room. However, this time the shelf was in the closet.
Finally I wrapped him in tissue paper and put him in a shoe box. My brother asked if I planned to bury him since he looked as if he was dead. Nevertheless, I still loved him.
Though he was never seen publicly, my bear attended college at North Texas State University, safely hidden in his shoebox on my closet shelf. After I married and moved away, I didn't think of the bear for many years.
When my father retired and he and my mother moved from the large old farm house into town, I helped Mother pack. At the bottom of my cedar "hope chest," wrapped in tissue paper, I found him. Mother had saved him. She told me my daughters found him once but rejected him as a playmate because of his appearance, preferring my dolls instead. So there he had waited for me all those years.
Seeing him I remembered the little girl who found him under a Christmas tree so long ago and loved him. I remembered the teenager who was somewhat ashamed of him and hid him in a closet, but loved him too much to throw him away.
I brought him home with me and each year at Christmas I placed him with the other decorations under the tree, well to the back. He really was a deplorable sight.
During the Christmas holidays a few years ago my son-in-law's grandmother was visiting and saw him. After hearing his story, she asked if she might take him home with her so she could knit a cap and scarf for him. A few days later she called me to come pick him up. Not only did he have a new cap and scarf, but a red and white sweater and pants to match.
He still looks as if he has a severe case of the mange, he has only one eye, and he is as hard as a rock. But each year he is lovingly removed from his box and placed in an honored location under my Christmas tree. My family and friends no longer laugh at him. My Christmas Bear is as much a part of our Christmas tradition as the star on top of the tree.
I was afraid he might be for my baby brother, but no, he was for me. Surely I received other gifts that Christmas, but I don't remember.
Through the years I played with this bear, dressing him up in my doll clothes and pulling him in my little red wagon. He was invited to my tea parties. I must have been very protective of him since I remember putting him away from my little brother.
I left him outside once under a large tree and Daddy had to go out in the middle of the night and rescue him before a heavy rainstorm. Once he was lost for several days after he fell behind a bale of hay in the barn loft where I was playing.
Time passed and with the appearance of other toys, my bear spent most of his time sitting on a shelf in my room. Oh, I'm sure I sometimes took him down, but mostly he just sat as if watching over me. He was the last thing I saw before the light was out at night, and he was always there in the morning. From time to time when I was ill, or just feeling sad, I put him in my bed and slept with my cheek against his soft fur.
I was ten years old when my family moved to my father's homeplace, the Moses Hubbard estate east of Celina, and of course my bear came along. One day he just disappeared. In my excitement of a new home and new territory to explore, I'm afraid I didn't even notice or miss him.
It must have been a month or more after his disappearance, while Mother was drawing water from an old cistern to water her house plants, that she discovered him. She saw something dark floating in the water and feared it was a cat that had fallen into the well and drowned. Daddy was finally able to get the object into a bucket and draw it up. It was my soggy bear.
Although my brother never confessed, the evidence was clear. He had thrown my bear in the well. Not maliciously, I'm sure. He probably just wanted to see if the bear could swim.
Daddy was for throwing the dirty thing away, but I cried. So Mother squeezed the water out of him, washed him with soap and clean water, and hung him by his ears on the clothesline to dry.
As he dried, the stuffing hardened, most of his fur fell out, his eyes rusted, and one fell off. He really was a sorry-looking sight, but I still loved him. So once again he sat safe and sound on a shelf in my room. However, this time the shelf was in the closet.
Finally I wrapped him in tissue paper and put him in a shoe box. My brother asked if I planned to bury him since he looked as if he was dead. Nevertheless, I still loved him.
Though he was never seen publicly, my bear attended college at North Texas State University, safely hidden in his shoebox on my closet shelf. After I married and moved away, I didn't think of the bear for many years.
When my father retired and he and my mother moved from the large old farm house into town, I helped Mother pack. At the bottom of my cedar "hope chest," wrapped in tissue paper, I found him. Mother had saved him. She told me my daughters found him once but rejected him as a playmate because of his appearance, preferring my dolls instead. So there he had waited for me all those years.
Seeing him I remembered the little girl who found him under a Christmas tree so long ago and loved him. I remembered the teenager who was somewhat ashamed of him and hid him in a closet, but loved him too much to throw him away.
I brought him home with me and each year at Christmas I placed him with the other decorations under the tree, well to the back. He really was a deplorable sight.
During the Christmas holidays a few years ago my son-in-law's grandmother was visiting and saw him. After hearing his story, she asked if she might take him home with her so she could knit a cap and scarf for him. A few days later she called me to come pick him up. Not only did he have a new cap and scarf, but a red and white sweater and pants to match.
He still looks as if he has a severe case of the mange, he has only one eye, and he is as hard as a rock. But each year he is lovingly removed from his box and placed in an honored location under my Christmas tree. My family and friends no longer laugh at him. My Christmas Bear is as much a part of our Christmas tradition as the star on top of the tree.
Shirley A. Clark - Sherman, Texas - Published: November 14, 2005
