This is my cherished object:
Her name is Beara, and she has been my teddy bear since I was a year old. You can see her fur is worn at the seams. You can’t tell in the photo, but her face has a permanent impression of her arm from how I held her when I would go to bed. Once she was lost under the bed for three days. Her nose is chipped from when I threw her when I was eleven because my brush was stuck in my hair. When I lined up all my stuffed animals and dolls on my bed, she was always front and center.
As an adult, I don’t think I can capture the bond between a child and a favorite stuffed animal in words (certainly not better than someone like Bill Watterson already has). There is something about that relationship that gets lost in translation as you grow up. Although she seems really small now when I look at her, she was an excellent adventurer, a brilliant sidekick, and a superior confidante. She doesn’t stay on my bed anymore, but I’m pretty sure she is still the best-loved bear there is.