My mom came over the other day and said, "Look at what I found while I was cleaning out my files." She handed me a yellowed paper with dark type. I peered at it closely. It was a poem that I had written in ninth grade English class.
My first thought when I read the title of the poem was: why was I writing about a teddy bear in 9th grade? I mean, I was 14 years old, and I was in high school. As I read further through the poem, I realized that it was not so much about a teddy bear, as it was about my life.
After reading the poem I realized I was actually quite abusive to my teddy bear. I did things to my teddy bear that I would have liked to have been able to do to my dad. At the time the poem was written, it had been a year since I had seen my father. I was pretty pissed off.
My dad decided to do a disappearing act when I was 13. Just like Brian
, he was there one minute, and gone the next. He did call me out of the blue when I was 16 to ask if I wanted to go to Disneyland, but I declined. "Dad, I'm 16. I don't want to go to Disneyland. And where the hell have you been for 3 years?" He hung up on me.
I have found that the best therapy is to completely abuse and/or destroy some inanimate object. Pillows and teddy bears work the best. And the best part is, teddy bears always forgive.
To My Bear
This is a poem to my beautiful brown
Whom I have hugged to my chest
When I've cried and when I've
Your big glass brown eyes have looked
With so much concern and understanding.
I have thrown you around my room
when I was angry,
then hugged you tight to apologize.
What is so beautiful about you is
that someone I love very much gave
You to me.
So, when I look at you, I look at him.
I wanted to let you know, teddy bear,
that you make me smile and you make
That's why I love holding you.
December 10, 1990