Daddy and Me — Easter in Oysterville, 1939
I must have been seven or eight when I played my one and only April Fool’s trick — on my dignified, Bostonian father, of all people! It wasn’t that he didn’t have a sense of humor — he did. But probably not when the joke was on him. And definitely not regarding the sanctity of his morning coffee.
I, of course, was gormless and when I asked my mom if she would help me substitute salt for the sugar in the bowl on the breakfast room table, I definitely didn’t take any gentle hints from her that this would NOT be a good idea. I’m sure I stuck stubbornly to the thought that this would be a great joke on Daddy, and I waited eagerly for him to join us before dashing off to work.
He was NOT amused. I’m sure my mother had another cup AND some sugar ready and waiting, but I only remember how small I felt and how miserable that I had upset my father. It’s another one of those memories that surfaces every year on this date — and every time I wish I’d told him how sorry I was. But I don’t think I ever did.
Nor did I ever play such a trick, at least not knowingly, on anyone again. It was my first “lesson” in empathy — the first time (at least that I remember) that I viscerally thought of how someone else saw things. I can’t say that the lesson always “stuck.” Certainly not in its broadest sense. But I’m quite sure I never played another April Fool’s Day trick on anyone and still feel that it’s a mean, not funny, way to “celebrate” a day.
On this very date, February 15th, in 1903, the first Teddy bear went on sale. Little did toy store owner and inventor Morris Michtom realize that he was creating a childhood institution. He had asked and received permission from President Theodore Roosevelt to use his nickname, Teddy, and had then sewn up a couple of stuffed bears and placed them in his store window. The rest, as they say, is history.
I do remember shopping for a little Steiff bear for Charlie when we were in Germany in 1958. He was two and, somehow, I thought he needed a stuffed bear. But, even then, they were way too expensive for our meager budget. The stuffed animal that became his favorite was a dog that we got in Italy.
During those years, Charlie and I were also introduced to Winnie-the-Pooh in a book given to Charlie by his Great-Grandmother Little, as I recall. Later, I enjoyed my own second childhood over and over again by reading those Milne books to my first graders. Wise old Pooh helped many-a-child of my acquaintance over a rough spot – but he wasn’t technically a Teddy bear and he didn’t come along in time for me to enjoy him during my own childhood.
I’m pretty sure I wasn’t “a girlie” sort of girl when I was young. I didn’t much like playing with dolls. I didn’t like playing dress up. It never occurred to me to get into my mother’s cosmetics.
All these thoughts converged the other morning when I had to actually enter the chicken run AFTER the girls and boys were up and about – yes, including the evil black rooster! Their water was frozen solid and I was coming to their rescue, a fact that I told them over and over as I bravely unlatched their gate and walked into their midst.
“A squirt gun!” I thought. “That’s what I need.” But I really don’t like the idea of aiming any kind of gun at anyone – even that evil rooster. “And I don’t have to!” was my happy realization. “A water bottle will do just fine.”
