Thing

I am incredulous when people tell me that they no longer have their beloved childhood toys. Or even that they're packed away in a plastic bag, back of a closet, not seen for years at a time.

Perhaps I am overly sentimental, but I'm not in all ways. As far as childhood goes, I guess I am. Because I had a hell of a childhood. My childhood can probably beat up your childhood.

I'll tell you about Tobin. He's in my dorm room and everything, even if I don't technically "need" a beat up doll in my daily life.

I named toy Tobin in homage of my cousin of same name, when I was six, and he was two years younger. Human Tobin hates his namesake now, which amuses me. I think in the last few years, I finally became as well acquainted with human Tobin, as inanimate Tobin.

Toy Tobin and I have spent more time together in all, though. I took him everywhere for years of my childhood. But never did I ever play that he was my baby, and I was his mother. Tobin may be a baby, but he was much too busy attempting to survive Alaskan plane crashes, or trying to flee from political troubles in Europe, to ever be helpless. That was the kind of weird thing I played as a child.I had no interest in the "domestic", so it may seem strange that my favorite toy was a baby doll at all.

Most beloved objects come from other people. They were Grandma's, or Chuck gave it to me before he moved, or the British man I interviewed signed his book... Some item that proved or reminded me of something or someone important. Tobin is like all of my childhood, and its amazing games of pretend, condensed.

I bought Tobin in a thrift store when I was six years old. I remember the store, in Canonsburg, PA, but not why we were there that day. I was searching through an old baby crib filled with stuffed animals and dolls. And then I saw this baby doll, someone had already owned him no doubt, because his cloth body wasn't perfectly white. He was dressed in little checked shorts. Something about his plastic smile was terribly pleasing to me. I needed to have this doll, I knew that.

I asked my mother permission to buy him, and she gave it, though I can't picture that. I do remember approaching the counter, feeling apprehensive, as if maybe he would be out of my price range. The lady at the counter said Tobin cost a quarter, and I find it funny now that I must have been expecting a hefty price for this wonderful find. I was so relieved that I could afford him after all, with my very own money.

So for a quarter a childhood companion was bought. We spent years together, and Tobin got more beat up through our adventures. He's got marks on his cloth body where rips have been sewn up, and my dog as a puppy managed to chew off half his nose. He is the quintessential battered and beloved childhood toy, but he sits on my dorm room bed now, because his being anywhere else wouldn't ever occur to me.