Part of Angie's Wordful Wednesday. Click the icon and find more Wordful Wednesdays!
An alternative title for this post could be: The Saga of the Teddy Bears.
Earlier this week Brother wrote a post about songs that make him cry.
Yeah. He's such a girl. But anyhow....the one song is the song from A Toy Story, which makes Brother think of his old Teddy bear, Harry.
In the post he lamented on how he doesn't even know where Harry is.
This would be a heartbreaking sentiment if Brother and I had not had this same conversation shortly after that movie came out on DVD and we watched it together and I told Brother that I have Harry.
I've been Harry's keeper for years.
Some background: Harry was my dad's Teddy bear and then my brothers. He was never actually my bear, but I did become his keeper, of sorts. I stashed him in my room, in a safe place, out of harms way and have continued to do so over the years.
Right now he is on a shelf with another special bear, away from the dirty hands of a toddler and the slobbery jaws of a dog (and the brain dead cat, who also slobbers quite a bit with all those teeth missing.)
Brother posted a photograph of a bear on his blog that he said looked like Harry. It doesn't at all.
This is Harry:
Harry is one of those family "heirlooms" we've kept over the years, mainly because we are a family who seems to have an emotional connection to just about anything (even a pitchfork that was once stuck in the leg of my great-grandfather in a farming accident). He wasn't the only old bear that was placed in my care.
Once upon a time I also had "Cocky", named after my uncle, whose real name was Carlton, but everyone called him "Cocky." No idea why. Maybe he was "cocky."
Anyhow, Cocky was taken from my care by an older cousin, who, after reaching adulthood, began to miss her Teddy bear and asked for him to be returned to her. She probably stashed him in a closet somewhere, but hey, it was her bear first so my mom turned it over to her.
My grandmother felt guilty about all this and bought me a replacement bear -- a soft, fuzzy bear who I named Teddy. Yes, I was very original at the age of 9.
The story would have ended there had Teddy not become the victim of a horrible accident one summer while my family was on a trip to a Christian music festival. One moment Teddy was curled up next to me in the back of my parents pick-up, which my dad had placed a covering over to make the pick-up bed more secure to ride in, and the next he was mysteriously gone. An hour or more of searching along the side of the road in pitch black -- a search which commenced once I shrieked at my parents that Teddy was missing -- yielded no Teddy.
I was broken hearted, but prepared to soldier on.
Mom and dad, however, were afraid Grandma would find out that Teddy had been lost. 
Apparently Teddy cost more than I realized. An undercover operation was planned and my parents asked my aunt to purchase a duplicate Teddy at the toy store where the original had been purchased.
They then met this aunt at a restaurant, along with my grandmother, under the guise of having a nice lunch. Then, while Grandma excused herself to go to the restaurant, my aunt and parents conducted a drug-deal like exchange for the new bear -- money for the bear, under the table.
I cuddled the bear under my arm, pleased that Teddy was replaced, and Grandma was clueless about all the drama -- as far as I know.
I haven't let Jonathan hold on to Teddy very often. The last time he did he was maybe six months old and sucked on Teddy's nose. I panicked and stashed him back on the shelf to keep Harry company.
Incidentally, I've informed Brother that if he wants Harry back he'll have to give me "one hundred million dollars."
Oh, and just to make Brother cry a little more, here is a close up of Harry's cute little face.
Cry, Brother. Cry. But do so knowing that your sister does hug little Harry from time to time and will try to do it more so he doesn't feel left out.
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Clue in to Humor-Blogs and give the bloggers there a good cuddle. Just don't tell us about it later.
