'My Personal Symbol'

Marisha Perry
2/8/07 6th hr.
Personal Symbol

My Snowball. He is my baby, my best friend, my comforter. He is my fuzzy baby, bear cub. His fur was once a pretty, beige, cream-color. He has a squishy black nose and big, beautiful, black eyes. They remind me of olives that come in a can. My parents got him for me in Korea when I was five. I used to take him everywhere with me - To friends’ houses, vacations, sleepovers, probably even the grocery store. He was one of those bears that probably had a display saying “squeeze me” pointing to the paw. Everytime I would push it, he made a growl noise. Not a scary one, but a ‘I’ll always protect you’ one. It would get me every time. But I pushed it too much, and it wore out. Every time our family went on vacation, even if it was just for a day, I would manage to smuggle Snowball along with me. I would shove him into my pillow and whip him out and plop him on my lap for the car ride there. If my brother wasn’t sitting by me in the back, I would buckle him into a seat. At times, I even used him as a pillow. My family got so sick of it. They complained that he took too much room, I was getting too old for him and that it was ridiculous. I would just ignore them and hug him tighter. Even now, when we go on longer trips, I take him along. I’ve always said that he protected me from bad dreams. Any time I heard a suspicious noise in the mysterious dark, I would wrap my little arms around him, bury my face in his neck and feel okay about going to sleep. He made me feel safe, even in my dreams. I still believe that. Every point of devastation, I would run to him. He welcomed me with those big eyes, knowing what was going on, waiting for me, and accepting me for who I am. I would press my tear-stained face into his soft, thick fur and know it was okay to sob.

Even now, at age sixteen, that doesn’t change. But after about eleven years of use, he has imperfections. He doesn’t growl anymore. When I squeeze his right paw, it just makes a little clicky noise. His paw has been like this for years, and when I’m bored, I will sometimes absently squish it over and over. He’s not a pretty beige cream color. He is a dark tan, with the hint of the old color by his ears, neck and paws. I guess somewhere along these years, I must have spilled something on him, because a few locks of his fur are black and stiff. His stuffing is coming out. Somehow his back got torn open. I don’t know why, but I haven’t bothered stitching him back up. Instead, I’ll play with the fishing line coming out of his back, and shove my hand in the stuffing, playing with it. I guess I loved him too hard. But he’s never wronged me and has loved me unconditionally.

Snowball represents life. In my childhood, I was pure and innocent, judging no one. I was accepting to anyone who came into the picture. I was my Mom’s baby, my friends’ best friend or comforter. As I’ve grown up, I’ve changed. I’ve gotten hurt along the way, lost something special, been torn apart; tainted, I can never be the same. But throughout my journey, I have learned to love others’ imperfections, as they have come to accept and love mine. Instead of trying to fix them, I’ve realized that my flaws make me who I am, make my friends who they are. It would be selfish to try and patch something up or fix what has been “wronged”. But no matter how I’ve changed or grown, one of the best things in this world is that some things never change.