4.23.2006

To whom it may concern

I met him first on a lazy Sunday morning in the winter of 1966 a few miles out side of El Paso, Texas. I was just a wide-eyed adolescent, na├»ve of love or politics or anything that seems to stir this melting pot we live in, but eager to face the challenges of my next awkward faze. My Mother introduced us, and it was love at first sight…at least for me. He was quiet and confident, some might even say cocky, but I knew even before I felt the softness of his touch that he was made to grow old with me.
From then on we were with each other constantly. He’d watch me play in the back yard or we’d spend an evening trying to get the knots out of his hair. Sometimes we would just sit and stare blankly into each others eyes for hours, not speaking at all, but knowing exactly what was on our minds.
Tomorrow came and it had been 8 years. I loved him beyond words and I kept waiting for him to tell me he loved me…but he never did. He never said much at all, yet he seemed completely content with being by my side. At night he was my pillow, during the day he was my friend.
Before long my mother began to question our relationship. She wondered if we were starting to out-grow each other. Maybe she planted a seed of doubt in his head because I came home from school one day and he was missing. No note, no nothing, just gone. I cried for days wondering if I’d ever see him again. My mother insisted it was for the best, but I couldn’t let it go. I was completely heartbroken. I wouldn’t leave the house or even touch my food. I blamed my mom for everything and refused to speak with her.
This seemed to go on for weeks. I was getting weak from not eating and she was getting irate at the silent treatment.
…And then one night, she came to me with a letter. She told me he left it for me on that fateful day but she couldn’t bear to give it to me. There, in that familiar handwriting on the family stationary were the words that forever changed my life.

So what is a Texas Teddy Bear? It’s the Christmas present that left me for a 22-year-old ski instructor named Sven. Thanks a lot for bringing it up.

2 comments:

SmithJ said...

What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger. Except for heartaches, toothaches, and El Paso. They don't make you very strong. Live on brother, live on. In the spirit of Nordic pride, LIVE ON!

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