Object Essay

When I was younger, I had a favorite stuffed animal like many young kids do; mine was a bunny. He was particularly special because before I was even born my mom had made him for me. However, the first bunny of the two was the one that she really wanted me to have; the one she wanted me to take to. This version had ribbons and bows and a cute little face, but to me it was just another "perfect stuffed animal". Unfortunately for her, I took to her rough draft better. I guess you could say it was because it represented the first, just as I was the first child, but more than that was the fact that my mom had made it, so regardless of how beautiful it was, I absolutely adored it.
Over time this bunny of mine became tattered and torn and spilled on. However, each accident my bunny had (thanks to me) would become a treasure hunt for my mom and I. We would spend hours picking out the perfect fabric patch to fix him with, and of course it had to be PERFECT...after all, it was my bunny we were talking about. He was marvelous. After some time, and much growing up, there are now only bits and pieces of the original fabric peeking out behind the layers of patches that my bunny had to endure.
To most people, patches are a sign of repair and worthlessness. As a kid, these patches were fun, and were always there to soak up my tears whenever I cried. In whole, my bunny was most definitely my biggest security and comfort as a kid. Whenever I would get in trouble, or when my parents would fight my bunny would always be there. Even when my parents got divorced, I transferred my fear to my bunny, by comforting him and telling him that everything would be okay. Looking back on it now, I can see who was really comforting who.
Each patch not only brings back feelings of comfort, but it also brings in a flood of memories from my childhood. For instance, when I was a child I was the most curious little girl. One day, I decided that I was going to drink out of the "grown ups" mug and have coffee (which was completely against my mom's wishes). So naturally, I stood on the tip of my toes and attempted to grasp the mug off the counter in one hand, while holding onto my bunny in the other. Needless to say, the whole operation ended with a crash as the coffee splashed onto the floor, and even worse... onto my bunny's ear! I started wailing, and soon after my bunny had found himself with a new patch to be proud of, right on the tip of his ear.
Even now, as I write this essay, I feel a strong sense of attachment and love towards my bunny. I guess sometimes even though we think we've grown up, we come to realize that our inner kid is just hiding behind the big bad adults that we've come to be. So anyway, if there was to be one object that I was to hold above the rest, it would obviously be my bunny; my companion; my inner kid's best friend forever.