Christmas day

Growing up, I had a stuffed bear that I would sleep with at night. He was a bear I had since I was a baby, one of my first Christmas gifts. It was a little odd because we didn't really celebrate Christmas, or were even Christian, but we always did the whole gift thing nonetheless. Like religious vultures, picking and choosing at the things we like and don't like. At the time he was so big he was probably twice the size of me. I would sleep with him, each night it would shrink in size and I wouldn't understand why. But I didn't really care. I would tell it all my most deepest secrets, and he would tell me it was all okay. That he was the only friend I would ever need. It was something I needed to survive back then, because I didn't have any friends. And thankfully I was too young to be embarrassed that my only and dearest friend was a stuffed animal. I remember I felt all my other problems back then were so big. That someone had to save me from the loud and angry voices floating in my house. From the crashing of things in anger at all hours of the day and night. I would tell him about what new wreckage I had found the day before, artifacts of fury fueled by alcohol and nothing.

I sometimes think how simple and complicated those kid problems were. I sometimes think about how much more lonely I feel now, looking back at it all with the wisdom of time. That the innocence of youth can be the strongest armour of all.