The Buried Teddy Bear

My brother and I dug a hole toward the back of the yard and we liked to get in it and pretend it was a fox hole. My guess is that we must have seen a movie or news items showing men during World War II in fox holes. In the year 1942 I was around four years old and my favorite toy was a brown teddy bear. I carried it around with me all the time.

We lived in a small house that reminded me of a train car. Later, I remember my parents referred to that house as "el shake," which means the shack.  It was long and the rooms were in a row beginning with kitchen, a room used as a bedroom and toward the back was the bedroom with a bed. Under the bed was a vasine (chamber pot) we used at night since our toilet was an outhouse.  The yard was covered with black dirt with sparkles in it. It is strange that I remember we rented the house from the local barber.

My father had a corn field at one end of the yard and one time my brother and I were hiding in the corn stalks and he had an old bicycle tire that he decided to throw up to the sky. My mother and grandmother were outside hanging up laundry on the clothesline and the bicycle tire went flying up and as it returned to earth it hit my grandmother. I don't remember if it knocked her down or how badly she was hurt, though I do recall she kept rubbing her head.  There was a lot of yelling directed at my brother.

One day, when my brother became angry with me for whatever reason, he took my favorite teddy bear and buried it in our fox hole. I complained to my parents but nobody seemed to care about my teddy bear except me. I began crying and would not stop until my father told my brother to go get the bear.  My brother said, "I don't want to go, it's dark outside."  "Well, you shouldn't have buried her bear, now go out and get it." He gave my brother a flashlight and I remember the look my brother gave me as he went out the door. I knew I would have to pay, by some way or another, for making him go get my bear!

He returned with my poor teddy bear all covered in dirt but I didn't care because I was happy to have my bear back. Later, as adults, I mentioned the teddy bear story to my brother, and he did not remember it at all. He did remember the bicycle tire striking our grandmother. I find it interesting that what he remembers and what I remember from our childhood is sometimes entirely different.

In the middle sits my cousin, Mary Jane, hugging my teddy bear. My brother is on the right. The photo shows how unhappy I am because I had to let my cousin play with my teddy bear. I did not think it was fair that she should get to hold my bear and my disappointment shows clearly on my face!