I am a 25 year old woman who still has a teddy bear. I don't just have my teddy bear as in it sits on the windowsill of my old bedroom in my childhood home and I sentimentally glance at it from time to time at the holidays. No, I still sleep with my teddy bear every single night, I still smell it, hug it, squeeze it, and refuse to wash it. Curly is my comfort and confidant and up until about a year ago was dragged on each and every adventure of my life.

It is funny how you remember your life. I have a few vague memories from my early childhood years; laughter, imagination, love. All sustained through photographs and family recollections. As far as my memory of my own life is concerned, the fun started when I first was given Curly, my teddy bear.

Curly was given to me on my seventh birthday. A gift from my grandma Carolyn who is rolling over in her grave knowing that I still sleep with my teddy bear; this the grandma that threw away my little sister's blanket when she was ten.

I picked Curly out at a small gift store on Beaver's Island in northern Michigan the summer before 3rd grade. We were vacationing for a week and I remember picking Curly up off the shelf as if the teddy bear were already mine. I had a habit of always wanting; more, more, more. When I picked Curly off the shelf, the decision was already made that Curly would go home with me, whether my parents knew it or not. Grandma Carolyn graciously bought Curly for me, but insisted she wait until September (my birthday) to give Curly to me, officially.

I have to admit that it was not love at first sight with Curly. When I opened the box holding Curly, neatly wrapped in tissue paper, it was clear we needed some time to get to know each other. Curly's eyes looked so real, they scared me. I had to feel around the eyes, making sure they were buttons, fake. This was the last time I would ever question the realness of Curly.