Giraffey
When I was a little girl, I got a stuffed giraffe. It was at an old friend’s birthday party at the Build-A-Bear that isn’t there anymore. I think only three of the ten or so kids there actually made bears. My sister got a poodle. I don’t recall the actual party; I remember very few specific events from my young life. Even so, I do remember how much I loved that giraffe.
Since, as a child, I was the proud possessor of boundless creativity, I named it Giraffey. It never had a gender, because no matter how I tried to stick to one, it would inevitably change within a week, at most. I deliberated over that issue many a time, but eventually gave up and left it. Giraffey was simply Giraffey, and was a boy or girl whenever I decided it should be.
I loved it so much that I even made up a rhyme to sing with it. It went: “Giraffey, Giraffey, Green and yellow Giraffey.”For a six or seven year old, it was genius. However, there was a problem, as I soon realized after coming up with this breakthrough jingle. Giraffey was not green and yellow. As I was indeed creatively blessed, I did some quick thinking and was able to answer the questioning looks promptly. “Green and yellow are Giraffey’s favorite colors,” I told them. I was safe. And even if they weren’t Giraffey’s favorite colors, who would know?
Ever since I was little, I have been what my mother calls “a thrower”; that is, someone who doesn’t get sentimental about material things. She is one of these people as well. We don’t save birthday cards, or feel the need to hold on to insignificant objects that the more sentimental person would feel inclined to. We don’t want to keep the un-listened-to records and cassette tapes that my dad insists on hanging on to, or the three bins of stuffed animals that my sister once proudly owned. So, you would think that my giving away Giraffey during one of our semi-annual deep clean-outs wouldn’t be a big deal. You would be wrong.
I don’t regret getting rid of a lot of things. Out of everything I’ve thrown out or given away, there are maybe three at most that I regret. Giraffey is one of them. As soon as I realized that it was too late, that I was never going to see the beloved stuffed animal again or sing its song, I regretted it. I had thought that letting go would be easy; I was older now and didn’t need all fourteen or so stuffed animals that I had. How sadly mistaken I was. I still miss Giraffey sometimes, and the little rhyme that went along with it still gets stuck in my head, an echo of my mistake: “Giraffey, Giraffey, Green and yellow Giraffey… Giraffey, Giraffey, Green and yellow Giraffey.” I still think that I let go of my precious giraffe too soon; but then, we always forget to really appreciate what we have until we suddenly don’t have it anymore.
