Every toddler has that one object that brings the feeling of safety and security. For some kids its a teddy bear or a blanket that is dragged through everyday life like a best friend. For other kids it is a Binky that is only used when unsure situations occur.
As a toddler, I had my security blanket which I called “My”. The blanket went with me everywhere and my parents had to beg me to wash it. As the years went by, the blanket became more and more tattered, dirty, and ripped.
My parents finally decided that it was time that I let go of my blanket (My mother still tells me how disgusting the thing got). I completely disagreed. They tried telling me that it was important to be a “big girl” and they tried big “goodbye parades”, but nothing was going to sway me.
During my parents’ desperate attempt to rid me of the blanket, I went to spend a weekend up in Pasadena with my uncle Dudley. I loved spending time with him at his house because he spoiled me just like a grandparent would (My grandparents died before or right after I was born). His house was big, beautiful, and completely magical to my imaginative self.
I was dropped off at his house as usual and I waved goodbye to my parents as they drove off. Everything was going well until I tripped in the backyard. While I wasn’t injured, I went to reach for my blanket. When I couldn’t find it – I began to panic.
I searched the entire house in a panic and I began crying heavily. My uncle finally took me into a big hug and pulled out a small square of fabric. He told me that it was his security blanket, which he called his “Tiki–Baki“. He took it with him when he traveled and he left it in his bedside table while he was home. He said that it was okay to keep my blanket if I wanted to, but that I would have to learn to be okay without it.
That story is one of my favorite memories of my Uncle Dudley, who passed away last year. At his Celebration of Life, we all saw his Tiki–Baki for the last time. While his ashes were spread among many of his favorite locations, his Tiki–Baki was placed inside a small photo album where it can be remembered forever.
The point of this story is to get you to think about the meaningful items in your family…and then to write about them. I know that if I found a journal entry that my ancestor had wrote about an item that meant so much to them, then I can only to do favor for my descendants.