Froggy

  Frog Tales Marathon 

Being there for a child is the most noble thing a toy can do. - Woody, Toy Story

It's hard to visualize the toys The Girls had some fifty years ago – all save a few like Froggy. He's as clear as if he were sitting on the Little Bed in the Little Room. 

Froggy was Second Daughter's baptismal gift from her godfather.

Now half-a-century old, he looks simply worn, dilapidated, grubby.

His original eyes, fallen off, had been replaced with googly eyes; his nostrils, re-embroidered with two small dots. His bow tie had been lost.

Froggy sits on Second Daughter's original childhood red bureau in the Grandkids' Little Room in current Columbus home. Hand-me-up Ollie from Grandson keeps him company.

I'm pretty sure that Froggy was there to hear Second Daughter's first word, peach. Or when she first turned over. When Little Girl woke in the deepest dark of night and heard the driving rain, she must have reached out a hand and held his furry leg, and gone to sleep again.

In a world where everyone seems to be larger and louder than yourself, it must have been very comforting to have a quiet and loyal companion. As Little Girl grew up, Froggy must have known her secrets and kept them. 

To this day, Second Daughter is probably no longer emotionally attached to Froggy. Realistically, she has realized that he is sewn, a mere stuffed item. Logically, she knows he is not a living thing. 

But in actuality, if the heart were true, I'm thinking that it doesn't matter much if an eye socket had dropped off. Froggy deserves a dignified old age.

In a world gone crazy, he remains to be a memento of what was comforting.

Uncomplicated.

A dependable hunk of sanity.