You can tell by looking at me that I’ve been through the wringer. You can’t really tell that I ever had a bowtie, but when I did it was pretty damn cool. It’s mostly gone now, lost in the tatters of play with him.

I never knew I wasn’t a real bear. Not until that day when a little boy’s parents bought me from a calendar shop, anyway. As I sat on that shelf I envisioned a life of wandering through the woods, catching fish from a stream, eating campers. What a surprise it was when I learned that I was simply a stuffed animal. Not that I’m upset mind you, it was just a shock to know that everything you were born to believe was nothing more than a gigantic, stuffed lie. Or was it simply an illusion?

To be honest, I wasn’t even supposed to be his. If I’m being blunt, the little guy lucked out by getting me. “Give him away to charity”, the clerk at the store said, “he’s on sale, cheap”. Sure, I ended up being his because they forgot to give me away to someone else. Or maybe because they needed a present. Either way, I’m his now and he loves me. Maybe not as much as he used to, or maybe he just doesn’t show it as much.

There are days when I’m just not sure. He has so many animals around him now. When it started I was one of his only animals, but as time went more animals became his. Some are softer than me, some have fun designs or colors. Me, I’m just a basic, brown bear. Nothing special, but I sure am cuddly. He has days when he forgets about me and I just sit in the closet, watching his other animals. But it’s okay. We all have nice conversations and share our dreams of days when we’re no longer stuffed.

You can tell by looking at me that I’ve been through the wringer. You can’t really tell that I ever had a bowtie, but when I did it was pretty damn cool. It’s mostly gone now, lost in the tatters of play with him. He’s always asking his daddy for a new bowtie for me, but I have to be honest, nothing can replace it. There are pieces of fuzz stuck in my fur, too. No matter how often I’m washed they just stay there, stuck to me. If anything the constant washing just makes it worse.

I never told anyone this, but once the little boy’s dog, a real dog, tried to use me as a chew toy. It was a rough few minutes before the boy’s daddy came and grabbed me out of the dog’s mouth. I’m okay, honestly, but there may be puncture marks in my side somewhere. That’s the burden of being stuffed, that I never really heal. I can only be stitched and then it always leaves a little scar.

Apparently it’s my birthday this week. According to the little boy anyway. He dressed me in this shirt and threw a party for me with all of his other bears. I know he loves his other bears and likes them to be involved, but let’s face it, I was his first. I’ve been through the wringer and I’m still here to share my story.