Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Back again! It's Monday! Creative Writing Exercise

Write about my first toy (200 words).

My first toy.

My first toy has a lot of meaning to me. It's something that I hold very dear to my heart and my soul and something that will always remind me of my dad--a man I wish I could have known as an adult.    My first toy unfortunately sits in my closet, carefully tucked away with blankets and boxes gathering dust--not because it's forgot but because it's for it's own good.    The 12in plush likeness of a Baby Mickey Mouse in his baby blue onesie, perpetually smiling, reminiscing of a time when he slept in my arms, his eyes not faded, his bib not torn.  He sits in my closet not because I've grown too old and not because I'd feel silly sleeping with a plush animal--I'm 25 I can do as I please, but rather because I don't mind having him on my bed, I'm not ashamed to say it. I'm not exactly going to cuddle with him, he's frail. But because of that frailty I put him away, locked away in a closet like the memories that he evokes. Memories of a father that was absent not because he chose to but because he passed away due to sickness. A lot of times I find it harder and harder to remember what he was like or what he sounded like, smelled like, walked like but then there's times and instances--specific memories that stick out above the rest mostly good (some not so good) that shine brighter than many of my recent memories. Times that remind me how much of a magnificent man he was. I mean, he fought a lady at a Kay Bee Toys in San Antonio during Christmas Eve to get me a Ghostbusters toy, if that doesn't make him the most lovingly fantastic dad ever, I don't know what does. My first toy, a plush Baby Mickey mouse, with a baby blue onsei and a tattered bib and faded eyes keeps a perpetual smile on his face, and thus on mine, because it reminds me of you, dad, and there he sits in my closet, facing my bed, watching over me, like you have for years. 

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