Cuddly

My 6-year-old likes to think of himself as a guy's guy.

He likes the Green Bay Packers, although doesn't even know what or where is Wisconsin.  He says that when he grows up, he's going to be a hockey player, although he's barely able to skate.  When not scattering Lego pieces all over the house - he's like a cat, shedding Lego instead of fuzzballs - he's practising Taekwondo kicks or wrestling his sister.  One of his biggest fears is to be sent to school wearing one of her barrettes, a threat this mean mommy often incurs -- but also because he is pretty too and would look awesome dolled up in hair accessories.

So he's your standard 6-year-old suburban America boy, steeped in society's pseudo-macho culture, without really knowing what macho even means.

Except at any given time, he is carrying in his backpack or in his coat pocket, one of his many many stuffed animals, his 'stuffies'.  During meals out, he will occasionally have a stuffy on his lap, under the table.  He tucks them in at night, either in his bed or in the makeshift cots he has made for them around his bed.  He's a nurturer, my boy, a little bowl full of tender love.

Cherry Blossom season elevates living in the DC area to superlatives.  When not inundated by swarms of tourists, local and not, the Tidal Basin, where many of these Japanese trees reside, is beyond compare.  If you walk beneath the trees at certain times of the day when sunlight flickers and filters through each corolla, the canopy of blossoms resemble the heavens in the sky.  Peer closely and each blossom tells a tale of promise, its petals as soft as newborn cheeks.  If I could, I would spend all day every day during the short weeks of Cherry Blossom season out amongst them, camera in hand.  But alas, children need to be schooled, bathed, fed.

One day, the children joined me.  We parked the car at a garage and took the Metro downtown.  No stroller, no scooter, just little feet in light-up sneakers.

The day was going great with a minimum of tears.  They were even cooperative with picture-taking, smiling when I asked them to.  I noticed that Cuddly, a furry white stuffed puppy that was acquired at some airport somewhere, was in all of the pictures.  "Why did you take him with you?," I asked.  The boy looked at me as if, of course, I didn't know anything about anything. "Because Cuddly has never seen the Cherry Blossoms, Mom!".  Duh.

So we strolled and hopped and skipped through the swarms of beings, human and canine.  I didn't mind the throngs, as long as they didn't get into my shot.  While the kids played tag, I would park my bag by a tree and took close-up photos of the lovely blossoms.  Eventually, we started our return back to the Metro station. Hours had passed.

When we were back on 17th Street, past the Tidal Basin, past what I am sure was miles of walking, my son said the nightmare words: "Where's Cuddly?".

A frantic search through my bag.  A frantic search through my daughter's bag.  A frantic search through coat pockets (Cuddly is small, no bigger than an adult hand).  No Cuddly.

Quickly the tears fell.  Cheeks turned pink, then red, and the eyes too.  Corners of the mouth, usually helplessly upturned, cowered south.  Sob. Sob. Sob.

As a parent, my first impulse was to say, "I told you so!".  We have rules about not bringing toys out of the house.  I'm not much an enforcer of this rule, mostly because kids will be kids, and I will be sad when it's not toys that my son packs, but condoms and suspect magazines.  (I am not naive, that day will come)  Besides, I love the boy to bits and can't bear to deny him of simple pleasures.

My reaction was to hug him tight.  But also to tell him that Cuddly is most likely gone.  I asked him if he wanted to retrace our steps and try to find Cuddly but reminded him that it may take a long time because we have walked a long way.  He said no, he was too tired too.  Sob. Sob. Sob.  "Mommy, can we make a poster with pictures of Cuddly and put them on the trees here, maybe someone will find him after seeing the poster".  Hm, I don't think the National Park Service would let us put up Missing-Stuffed-Animal posters on the Cherry trees, but I said yes anyway.  I said that we could come back after school tomorrow to try to find Cuddly but urged him to not have high hopes, please.  Cuddly might well be on his way to the big Capitol dump.

Sob. Sob. Sob.  We had just seen 'Toy Story 3' again, and the story of Lotso -- the stuffed bear who became bitter and vengeful after getting left behind and then replaced by his owner -- really resonated with my kids.  "What if Cuddly becomes like Lotso, Mommy?".  Sob, sob, sob.  "What if Cuddly is scared out there in the dark by himself?  What if it starts raining?!".  The sobs grew frantic.  I was near tears myself.

Eventually, my boy calmed himself.  During these times, I wish that I can focus my whole attention on the one child that needs me more.  Instead, as ever, my son had to collect himself, because trains had to be taken, meals had to be made, sisters had to be attended to too.  For a 6-year-old, my son is quite mature, He faces traumas and moves on.

At bedtime, the tears returned. Pointing to a spot by his side, not far from his heart, my boy said, "I hope Cuddly is not cold, Mommy, he usually sleeps here."  Sob.  "I hope he's not hungry, Mommy, although I think he saved some food in his pocket."  I crumbled at his imagination. What little wonders children are.  "Even if I get another stuffy, Mommy, I will always save a spot for Cuddly.  I will always remember him."  He held my hand tight and looked into the distance.

I know that parents love their children as a matter of course - that it is both nature and nurture at work.  I know that children are lovable (some of the time, anyway).  I know that maternal love grows, with each passing year.

But on this sunniest of days, as an innocent suffers love and loss, my love crystallized further, encompassing admiration and pride.  This little boy who I already call Angel is developing the empathy and sensitivity of a gentle soul.  Not all people are so lucky; some people stay mean all their lives.  I hope my boy stays soft.  Although I hope he finds another stuffy he loves and I hope he does not have too many of these heartaches in his life, I hope he does keep that spot in his bed, and in his kind caring heart, for his Cuddly.  

(written in 2011)