When our son Seth was an infant, someone gave him Snuggly. Bright orange, soft and cuddly, it seemed reasonable to put it in the crib with our first-born. Little did we know that it would get frequently misplaced and we would spend a considerable portion of our lives as young parents looking for Gee, as it came to be called. (The “g” is pronounced like the “g” in good). Seth would not go to bed without it. If we went away, so did Gee. They were inseparable.
At some point, Snuggly was worn out and not long for this world. Fortunately, Peter and I were able to buy a new one. Late one night we snuck into Seth’s room and made the switch. But we couldn’t outsmart our child. (Still can’t.) He immediately declared the new Snuggly unacceptable.
Snuggly has been out of our lives for about four decades. We got smarter with Jeremy and his “Gee” was a cloth diaper, easily replaced.
On Friday, I persuaded Seth who was visiting us for the holiday to go through some cartons under the eaves on our third floor as part of my never-ending effort to de-clutter our house. We found boxes with college books, and high school and camp memorabilia. Then, tucked in between copies of the college newspaper that Seth wrote a column for, I spotted something orange.
Memories of our little tyke franticly looking for Snuggly came rushing into my head. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
So I did a bit of both.