long live the small stuffed sock puppet.

When I was about four foot shorter and many years younger my life consisted of a few simple obsessions. The most significant of those was (and might still remain to be) Lambchops. No, not the kind you eat but of the sock puppet variety. The small, somewhat unusual puppet that graced our television screens for many years. For my third birthday I was given my own replica of Lambchops. I’m sure my parents wouldn’t have thought the small stuffed puppet would still take pride of my place on my bed 17 years later. But lo and behold, the small stuffed puppet has not been removed from the throne that is my bed (albeit she is looking a little worse for wear).

Thus began my life-long aversion to eating lamb (ask any member of my family I still won’t touch the stuff purely because of that small sock puppet).  Lambchops was the perfect best friend, she listened to all my childhood secrets and when I was upset or stressed (being a four year old is probably more stressful than you remember), she became my security blanket. Which is probably the reason why the small stuffed puppet no longer looks like she did in her hey days. Faded white, almost graying, her red buttons are long gone, as are her hands (who knew sheep had hands?), eyelashes and half of an ear. But I wouldn’t have her any other way. Even though she appears unimpressive when compared to the flashy, electronic, talking, moving, doing-freaking-everything toys of today, the small stuffed puppet has been through as much as any human. She has travelled interstate, flown overseas, attended school, moved house, met new people. She has been permanent fixture throughout my childhood.

How many childhood tears have soaked into her wool and happy moments she was there for are uncountable. According to my year one journal she was “my best toy in the world but some of my other toys don’t like her”. Apparently even toys get jealous.

 Although, it is debatable if the sock puppet that sits on my bed is the exact same one I was given all those years ago. I liken it to my family’s own urban myth. I was around four years old and by that time we were inseparable. One fateful day, my mum and I returned from the local shopping to find Lambchops was not in the car. Or under the seat. Or in any of the shopping bags. Full-scale panic erupted, Lambchops was a family member by then and family members do not go missing. A four year old never leaves anyone behind, regardless of whether they are of the living and breathing variety or of the stuffed. Luckily, my dad returned to the shopping centre car park that night and found the said family member “sitting near a trolley tucked under a blanket.” Good as new. Even better than new, strangely. Well the jury’s still out on how much truth is involved in that story.

Regardless, I feel grateful that I was able to hang on to a small, somewhat ragged and seemly insignificant yet monumental piece of my childhood. Something familiar that still evokes memories from many years ago. I doubt the flashy, electronic, talking, moving, doing-freaking-everything toys of today will have that same privilege of becoming that priceless to a grown-up somebody one day.

 Long live the small stuffed sock puppet.