Dear Sparky,

I must begin by admitting that it would have been much easier to call you by your factory-given name -- "Oddball" is inscribed onto your plastic collar tag -- but honestly, I think your name made your more personal to me. When my next-door neighbors gave him to me when I turned four, they had no way of knowing that sixteen years later, I still sleep with you tucked under my arm. If I could, I would take you to college with me, but I am not one to break tradition: you never came on trips or vacations with me growing up because you were in charge of protecting my bedroom. Naive? Yes. Do I still unconsciously believe this? Of course.

You've listened to me babble on and on to my wallpaper (in my defense, it used to have pictures of little girls having tea parties). You've heard me laugh just as much as you've heard me cry. You've seen me grow from a girl that proudly wore her plaid bermuda shorts, to a girl that practically painted her eyelids with gold eyeshadow, now to a college junior. You and the hot pink carpet in my bedroom are two of the only things that have remained the same ever since. When I'm anxious, I squeeze you, even if you are no longer fluffy and especially even if the technology inside of you that is supposed to cause you to make noise is uncomfortable. While most kids have blankets to cuddle with, I have my Sparky.

To me, you really are a security blanket. You remind me of my roots and the fact that all of my values stem from my home. Your presence brings me back to when things were innocent and fun -- the only thoughts of a career that filled my head were when my best friend and I planned to build our own soccer field and charge people for admission. Ambitious, right? When I walk into my room, I can't help but immediately grab you. Like I said, you're not soft to the touch or even comfortable to hold, but you're more settling than my favorite stress ball.

Now, I know that there is no way to actually tell you how much you have helped me through the last sixteen years, as you are clearly an inanimate stuffed animal, but if we could communicate, I would have thanked you a long time ago. Hey, maybe it's a good thing that you can't talk because you probably have more embarrassing stories about me than most of my friends ever will. Those were much simpler times, though, and I am so glad that you could have been with me through them all.

Overall, I just have to admit that you will most definitely stay with me throughout adulthood. It only makes sense that you join me in this stage of life as well! Thank you for all of the comfort you've provided, tears you've absorbed, times you've protected my room from nonexistent threats (hey, even if you couldn't move you were my guard dog) and years you've been my comfort animal.

With all of my love,

Meg

P.S. I'm sorry that I'm a dramatic sleeper that pushes you out of the bed 99.9% of nights.