If I were to ask anyone what it was like the moment they met their best friend, I bet they could tell me word for word what it was like. I wish I could remember. I was just a baby, not even able to speak or hold myself upright. But then again, neither could my best friend. Most people's’ best friends are able to move, breath and hold conversations. Not mine, he was more the silent, warm and fuzzy type. Theodore, did I mention he’s a teddy bear?

Growing up, I had actual friends, the kind you played with on the playground and had slumber parties with the pillow fights. I was not a quiet child; far from it. I was the kind of brat that would stand up in a restaurant in my high chair and sing at the top of my lungs. That is, until my mom pulled me down and scolded me. If you ask anyone who was once a kid, everyone, odds are they will tell you they grew up with a stuffed animal or blanket. I had a teddy bear. I received Theodore, better known as Teddy, from my parents when I turned one year old . Obviously I don’t recall the memory, but I’m told I accepted him with open arms. Literally.

Looking at him now, my precious bear has seen better days. Back in the day, Teddy was a praying bear; bent at the knees and hands stitched together. He was covered with fuzzy, brown fur that was comforting to nuzzle your face into and fall asleep. Along with big, brown painted on eyes and a small, black cork circle for a nose. If I were to pull Teddy out of retirement now you would not see the bear I just described. His hands are no longer stitched together, but limp at his sides. That fuzzy fur has deteriorated down to brown stubble, along with some bald spots. The eyes are faded from dragging him around everywhere I went and banging him into anything in my path. And sadly, the stitching at his neck has unraveled due to the constant hugging and he has puffy stuffing seeping out.

That bear has been through so much. My grandma would always tell me to give up the bear; put him in a case and store him as a keepsake. Of course I did not understand why she would want me to just hand over my best friend, all I knew was that I wanted to keep Teddy forever. To be honest, I probably kept that bear a little too long. But when you have something you love, wouldn't you hold on to it as long as you could? So I did. As the years went by though, I did not bring him with me everywhere I went. Unless it was a sleep over, I mostly just kept him on my bed and when it came time to fall asleep, I had him curled up in my arms. Around the age of 10, I recall a certain trip to Wal-Mart that took a turn for the worst.

For some reason I decided to bring Teddy on a grocery run. I left him in the car though, so I could focus on sneaking junk food into the cart whenever mom was not looking. I only got away with a couple before she threatened to take out everything I had already stashed in the cart. We proceeded to check out and leave. Keeping my hand on the cart, I trailed mom back to the Yukon and helped load up the trunk. Climbing into the car, I reached around hoping to be greeted by my furry friend and found nothing. I frantically reached around, clawing at nothing and began to cry. Mom helped me look and look, but we found nothing. My face was streaked with tears, but mom told us it was time to go back and we’d recheck the vehicle once we got home. Just as I was about to close my door, a woman walked up to mom’s side of the car. But more importantly a woman with a brown, fuzzy teddy bear in hand! Apparently when I exited the car, Teddy managed to fall out and land under the car parked next to us. The kind-hearted woman had waited around to find the owner. I hugged her with all my strength and repeatedly thanked her. Before we left, I heard her tell mom she had a daughter with a stuffed turtle.

I don’t quite remember the day I fully gave up Teddy. I still brought him places and would sleep with him. But over time, I realized it was not cool to bring a teddy bear to the mall or a birthday party. Apparently a mangled, beat up bear was not appropriate to bring out in public. So Teddy’s temporary location became my bed. As I got older, I grew to be somewhat embarrassed of him and would hide him whenever I had friends over. I guess that sort of helped with the no longer needing him to fall asleep. So Teddy’s location moved into my Hope chest. My Hope chest is a white, wooden chest with the word Hope painted in pink, script on it. My grandma gave it to me to store all my childhood memories in. It sits in my closet to this day. Sometimes when I’m feeling down or just need to go back in time for a bit, I’ll dig Teddy out of my Hope chest. I do not broadcast it to any of my family members. I just get him out and press him against my cheek to feel the warm, stubbly fur. I still get that same comforting feeling I did as a small child.

I’ll always cherish that bear. The courage he gave me to check under the bed for monsters or to take off those training wheels and take on the two-wheeler. Teddy was always with me, every step of the way. It’s kind of silly looking back know and realizing, because of that small, brown bear, I was not afraid. Any other kid would not have done the things I’d done without being accompanied by their parents. But not me; I could take on any obstacle as long as I had my best friend. If I think about it, the traits and characteristics I have now, I acquired from that precious bear. I grow very attached to things I love, I want to protect them, take

care of them and never let them go. The things I love give me the confidence to do anything I set my mind to too. One day, I hope I’m able to give that sense of admiration, security and invincibility to my own kid.