Blankie – the most calming word in all the English language. Wait – is blankie even a word? My spell check doesn’t think so. Anyway, it’s a word to me, and that’s all that really matters for this story. To be honest, this is my second blankie. My first blankie was something akin to a mop head. I can’t remember when I got it, but my mom tells me it was a gift – and boy was it ever. Immediately blankie and I got along famously. We went everywhere together, and blankie made himself (I’m not sure why it’s a boy) right at home with me and Joey – a doll my grandmother got me when I was 1 and I still have today (I tend to keep too many things). You might remember Joey – he was the doll that looked a whole lot like Chucky. I am super happy that movie wasn’t around when Joey was my best bud.
Anyway, back to blankie. We were like peas and carrots. Then, out of nowhere, tragedy struck. I was 4 years old, and the family went up the street to visit my grandmother (Nana) for dinner. As usual, blankie tagged along for the meal. We had a nice time with Nana, and headed back home to get ready for bed. Before I get to the really tragic part, I must describe how close the two houses are. Now in my older years, I describe it as a soft pitching wedge for you golfers out there. A soft wedge: maybe even a lob wedge on a good day when my back is loose. It is also a straight shot – no winding curves, or witches, or manhole drains; just a plain old sidewalk. As I neared the door to my house, the biggest freak-out in history begins – WHERE IS BLANKIE???? I made my parents walk that sidewalk about 20 times. Then back to Nana’s for another look. I looked EVERYWHERE. I was a kid on a serious mission. Alas, there was no hope. My mother still swears to this day that she did not take it from me, but I definitely don’t believe her (see my sister’s story – hers “blew” out of a moving station wagon on the way to Vermont).
Well let me tell you – did the poopie ever hit the fan. I must have cried for 2 weeks straight when my parents finally realized it was probably not the time to wean me off of blankie. Luckily for them, this loss of all losses happened 3 weeks before Christmas. Of course, as my weakened 4 year old body just began to pull itself together, there was a blankie under the Christmas tree. A blankie under the Christmas tree!!!!! My mom told me Mrs. Claus heard how sad I was about my old blankie and she personally knitted a new one for me. I sadly found out the truth some years later when I saw my blankie proudly on display in Caldors – the original Wal-Mart.
It doesn’t matter where blankie came from. Blankie has been through everything with me; school, sex, marriage, death, divorce, marriage again, and finally kids. If blankie could speak, he could tell you of my many transformations – both good and bad. It’s like sleeping every night with the history of me – a script that could only be written by him. Although family and some friends have been around as long as blankie, they weren’t there with me in bed every night. Whether it was crying myself to sleep, or dreaming of the grand things I might become, blankie saw it all. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Anyway, back to blankie. We were like peas and carrots. Then, out of nowhere, tragedy struck. I was 4 years old, and the family went up the street to visit my grandmother (Nana) for dinner. As usual, blankie tagged along for the meal. We had a nice time with Nana, and headed back home to get ready for bed. Before I get to the really tragic part, I must describe how close the two houses are. Now in my older years, I describe it as a soft pitching wedge for you golfers out there. A soft wedge: maybe even a lob wedge on a good day when my back is loose. It is also a straight shot – no winding curves, or witches, or manhole drains; just a plain old sidewalk. As I neared the door to my house, the biggest freak-out in history begins – WHERE IS BLANKIE???? I made my parents walk that sidewalk about 20 times. Then back to Nana’s for another look. I looked EVERYWHERE. I was a kid on a serious mission. Alas, there was no hope. My mother still swears to this day that she did not take it from me, but I definitely don’t believe her (see my sister’s story – hers “blew” out of a moving station wagon on the way to Vermont).
Well let me tell you – did the poopie ever hit the fan. I must have cried for 2 weeks straight when my parents finally realized it was probably not the time to wean me off of blankie. Luckily for them, this loss of all losses happened 3 weeks before Christmas. Of course, as my weakened 4 year old body just began to pull itself together, there was a blankie under the Christmas tree. A blankie under the Christmas tree!!!!! My mom told me Mrs. Claus heard how sad I was about my old blankie and she personally knitted a new one for me. I sadly found out the truth some years later when I saw my blankie proudly on display in Caldors – the original Wal-Mart.
It doesn’t matter where blankie came from. Blankie has been through everything with me; school, sex, marriage, death, divorce, marriage again, and finally kids. If blankie could speak, he could tell you of my many transformations – both good and bad. It’s like sleeping every night with the history of me – a script that could only be written by him. Although family and some friends have been around as long as blankie, they weren’t there with me in bed every night. Whether it was crying myself to sleep, or dreaming of the grand things I might become, blankie saw it all. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
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