Saturday, January 23, 2010

Now I Understand


Earlier this evening, as I was headed out to the garbage can with the kids' SpongeBob Square Pants magic sticker playset and their el-cheapo Etch-a-Sketch knockoff, it suddenly dawned on me:

This is probably what happened to Mr. Rockbottom.

Mr. Rockbottom was a stuffed cat I had as a kid, and dearly loved. He went everywhere with me. I bought him pseudo-backpacks that were really canteen cases from the army surplus store, then took him next door to the sandblasting place and filled his backpacks with pumice, that magic rock that floats. When he sprung a hole and lost his stuffing, I remember clearly sitting on the edge of our gravel driveway, singing happily away as I stuffed him with gravel and sewed him up. That my older brothers took him and used him as a weapon in their disputes I could not control.

Eventually, Mr. Rockbottom disappeared. I spent a few months looking for him, at first frenzied, then halfheartedly. I spent most of the time looking in the garage, on the random shelves, for example. I don't know why.

So as I was discarding the toys -- plus another two bags o' plastic crap that have yet to go outside --I realized it was probably a night like this that Mr. Rockbottom met his untimely demise. I'm pleased, however, to still have my teddy bears that my grandmother made for me. I'll never give them up.

1 comment:

Chris said...

Poor, poor Mr. Rockbottom!!