His name is Gund, because he was made by Gund, and it just sounded like as good a name as any at the time.
I got him for Christmas that year and I'm ashamed to say this, but I actually gave him back to my mother when I opened the wrapping paper and found him.
"I'm too old for teddy bears," I told her.
I ended up getting him back a few nights later though when I woke up after having a nightmare and she thought he might help me get back to sleep. We'd been more or less inseparable since.
When I came west 25 years ago, he was in my backpack and one of the only things from my old life I'd brought with me. As I got older, I pondered getting rid of him but found myself unable to do so. I didn't sleep with him any more but Gund was always nice to have around. A little reminder of when things had just felt easier.
Rather than passing him off, I made the decision when I was about 16 that I would instead pass him on, and when I got older and had a child of my own, hopefully he or she would find Gund as helpful a companion as I did when I needed one.
So when my son was born nearly three years ago, the first thing I did when we brought him home was take Gund down from the shelf he'd lived on for years and put him in Danny's crib. When my marriage fell apart a few weeks later and I came home to a half-empty apartment, I was at least comforted to know that she hadn't left him behind. So at least something of mine was still with our son, even if I wasn't going to be around anymore.
Today, when I walked into my ex-in-laws to see my son for our weekly visit, I found Gund sitting in a box containing other spare toys and all the books I'd given him for Christmas last year. Essentially, my one lasting connection from my childhood to my son had been relegated to the pile where either he or his cousin could do whatever they wanted with him.
That bear was never meant to be a spare. He'd been with me through just about everything and I loved him so much that I hoped that would rub of on my son as he grew up, and he'd be appreciated in the same way. And by doing so, the message I got from it is that whatever my son has in his new home are things given to him by his mother, her family, and the man she replaced me with. As far as I know, Daniel has nothing in his room that connects him to me in any way, and the realization of that hurts a lot.
So I did the only thing I could think of. I brought Gund back home with me.
I know it's fairly ridiculous for a grown man to still have such an attachment to a stuffed animal like this, but I guess my memories of what it did for me outweigh the idea that his fate should be to languish in a box of things to be discarded in a garage sale down the line. So I'll put him back up on my shelf in the hope that someday, if Danny needs him, I can give him back.
And if not, then at least that little happy part of my childhood won't be forgotten.
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