Childhood Innocence
With all of the crap going on in my life right now, I've been very reflective about my past and about how innocent and happy I was as a very small child. When someone asked about childhood memories on Yahoo! Answers, this was my reply. I thought I'd share it with you...
When I was little, I had a Sears edition Tigger I carried with me EVERYWHERE. I wouldn't sleep until I had him in my arms and he would have to literally be pried from my death grip to wash him in the middle of the night. In a years time, the love of a little girl would reduce him to threadbare seams.
My parents had a special tradition JUST for me. On Christmas Eve they'd take Tigger from my bedside and replace him with a fluffy new one. The story they told me was that Santa had heard my Christmas wishes and had mended him for me. I was always estatic to find him there and it made my year.
When I was at that age when you start debating if Santa is real, I'd still remember those stories and hold on just a little longer. But that Christmas when on one of my adventures, this time snooping for presents in my parents walk in closet, I found an unusual bag on a high shelf with a striped pattern leaking thru.
What was in the bag?
Every tigger my parents had ever given me, even the ones that had been used for salvage parts when they had to repair something during the year, and the new one for that Christmas.
That was the year I stopped believing in Santa. But I still have every one of those tiggers kept in a trunk in my Parents home, and one (the last one I received before I found out) in mine.
When I was little, I had a Sears edition Tigger I carried with me EVERYWHERE. I wouldn't sleep until I had him in my arms and he would have to literally be pried from my death grip to wash him in the middle of the night. In a years time, the love of a little girl would reduce him to threadbare seams.
My parents had a special tradition JUST for me. On Christmas Eve they'd take Tigger from my bedside and replace him with a fluffy new one. The story they told me was that Santa had heard my Christmas wishes and had mended him for me. I was always estatic to find him there and it made my year.
When I was at that age when you start debating if Santa is real, I'd still remember those stories and hold on just a little longer. But that Christmas when on one of my adventures, this time snooping for presents in my parents walk in closet, I found an unusual bag on a high shelf with a striped pattern leaking thru.
What was in the bag?
Every tigger my parents had ever given me, even the ones that had been used for salvage parts when they had to repair something during the year, and the new one for that Christmas.
That was the year I stopped believing in Santa. But I still have every one of those tiggers kept in a trunk in my Parents home, and one (the last one I received before I found out) in mine.