Angela Patten

I was already in bed and almost asleep on the evening of my sixth birthday when Dad, home late from work, woke me up to give me a large brown paper bag. Inside was a teddy bear. His fur was golden, his paws had brown velvet undersides, and he wore a red ribbon around his neck. There was no question that he was male, given his serious expression and the fact that he emitted a deep growl when turned upside down.

At first, I was frightened by his growl, but later on I found it comforting. Teddy quickly became the king of the dolls and my unquestioned favorite. I already knew that males were more important than females. After all, my big brother was a far worthier person than me. He wasn’t moody and jealous and he was unfailingly nice to me. My dolls were sweet and docile and impossible to snuggle with because of their hard plastic faces and bodies. Teddy was jointed so he was strong and solid like Dad, but his coat was soft and furry, the perfect bedfellow.

Now Teddy’s fur is bare in places, his velvet paws are worn, and his growl is no more. But he is a reminder of how much I loved and admired my Dad and my brother and how difficult it was (and sometimes still is) to value myself.