“Why I Hate Teddy Bears”
Another out from left field from ColleenP. This one actually resulted in a rousing discussion because, uh, I like teddy bears:
oh sure. okay.
But that final comment, tho’. That interests me, because personally I never once associated teddy bears with real bears. For one thing, I tended towards being a fairly literal child (one reason I did not enjoy fairy tales. I liked stories about horses and history, both of which actually existed).
I anthropomorphized my stuffed beings as much as the next kid (*cough*still do*cough*), don’t get me wrong. I think perhaps I considered them…a separate species? They were individuals but I never thought my teddy bears were meant to be bears, any more than I thought any other of the stuffed menagerie were somehow supposed to “be” what they kinda-sorta looked like.
And it’s all rather hysterical because I consider bears to be, for lack of a better term, one of my heraldic supporters. I have a custom, stylized, “celtic knot” bear paw tattoo (see left), and I wear a necklace pendant every day that is a miniature casting of an actual cave bear skull. My nickname in college was “Cave Bear” because I rarely came out of my den, and even when I did I was grumpy about it. One of my most beloved art prints is one Mother gave me by the celebrated Susan Seddon-Boulet of an Inuit girl dancing with a bear (or perhaps her spirit animal). Since I love to dance, the whole “dancing bear” motif is an ironic one. I swear, I never joined a circus.
But in all that, “teddy bears” never factored in. The idea of getting a tattoo of a teddy bear is ludicrous to me, it’s so very not at all what I mean when I say the word “bear.”
I guess the reason I don’t hate teddy bears is because to me, they are not and never will be bears. They are just cute fluffy friends who hang out and, with the rest of my stuffed beings, judge me for never becoming Indiana Jones when I grew up.
from Stories by KimBoo York on Medium http://ift.tt/2c22b26