This may not be news to those who know me, but as far back as I can remember I've had an emotional reaction (that is, tears, oftentimes plentiful) to songs and stories about growing up and saying farewell to the innocence of childhood. An early example of this was Peter, Paul & Mary's #2 hit from 1963, "Puff, the Magic Dragon." No idea now how old I would have been when I first understood that Little Jackie Paper had moved on from his pal, but it wouldn't surprise me if it happened before I turned ten. (While it's not exactly in the same vein, don't get me started on "Cat's in the Cradle"—that one may get its own post someday.)
This summer, our minister is doing a sermon series that examines lessons from the Gospels that tie into animated movies of recent vintage. Last week, he talked about the DreamWorks film How to Train Your Dragon; yesterday he gave the first of two sermons that tackle Pixar's Inside Out. When he and his wife learned we hadn't seen the latter, they loaned us their DVD copy of it. It's a story focusing on five emotions who live inside the mind of Riley, a young girl, and how they help her navigate a major upheaval in her life. Martha and I watched it Saturday night, and hoo boy (warning: spoiler alert), when I realized that Bing Bong, Riley's imaginary friend from years past, needs to stay in the Memory Dump to allow Joy to escape and help Riley… Maybe I just needed a big ugly cry.
So, I've been thinking about memory these last thirty-six hours (not that I need much prompting). What we remember of our earlier years, what we think we remember from back then, and what winds up on the cutting floor in our brains. Riley is eleven in Inside Out, certainly old enough to have already forgotten a good bit. Having lived this out as both child and parent makes plumbing these depths doubly bittersweet.
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I don't believe I had an imaginary friend like Puff or Bing Bong. Maybe that's due in part to not being able to recall a time when my sister wasn't there—she's only about twenty months younger than I am. But I did have a few stuffed animals I held in high regard. The longest serving of those was a pale yellow dog; I'd guess he dated back to my days in the crib. Somewhere along the way I gained a frog that was about the same size and a larger rabbit, and for a while, those three were nighttime companions. If any of them had names, they were long ago relegated to my own Memory Dump. The only good picture I have of these friends (and others) unfortunately is in black-and-white and features Amy, who's probably around ten, with an odd, wide-eyed look on her face.
This was taken on my red Zip Polaroid camera, which I assume was a birthday or Christmas present somewhere around 1975. I liked the camera plenty but, based on what I still have, apparently only took a few packs of pix.
The only remaining pal from that picture is Bert (Amy had an Ernie, of course). I'm certain I didn't actively toss my dog, frog, or rabbit—you can imagine that's just not my style. But I don't know when they disappeared, either; my guess is that Mom took it upon herself sometime after I left for college, maybe when we moved in the fall of '83. Regardless, at some point I did my own Jackie Paper act, perhaps placing them in a bag and sticking that in a corner of my bedroom closet with little thought or fanfare. Bert is in bad shape these days, though, missing his hair and eyebrows—I'm told my niece pulled them off while staying with my parents when she was small. I suppose it's past time to say goodbye.
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Our own child acquired a sizable stuffed animal collection growing up. A few years ago, the three of us pulled them out of a hamper in the closet and spent an afternoon reconstructing their names bestowed over time. We wrote their names on index cards that were placed with each buddy before putting them all back. it was a more difficult task than I'd expected it to be—memories fade, don't you know—but it was time well spent.
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I'm glad to have watched Inside Out—a satisfying storyline and plenty to chew on regarding the tempering of joy with sadness (or is it the other way around?) in the aftermath. Maybe we'll even take a chance on last year's sequel in the coming months.
I will say, though, that not having my yellow doggie anymore is stinging a bit right now.
