{"id":2251,"date":"2020-01-12T03:25:56","date_gmt":"2020-01-12T03:25:56","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/gmachronicles.com\/?p=2251"},"modified":"2020-01-12T03:25:56","modified_gmt":"2020-01-12T03:25:56","slug":"old-rabbit-harry-and-me","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/gmachronicles.com\/index.php\/old-rabbit-harry-and-me\/","title":{"rendered":"Old Rabbit, Harry, and Me"},"content":{"rendered":"

It\u2019s a surprisingly moving cinematic moment, when delivered as beautifully as this one is, to see an older man connect to a younger one by asking about his favorite stuffed toy from childhood.\u00a0 The older man is the legendary Fred Rogers, played by Tom Hanks in the hit movie It\u2019s a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood<\/em>.\u00a0Mr. Rogers is trying, in his quiet, measured manner, to befriend a cynical young journalist named Tom, played by actor Matthew Rhys.\u00a0 Tom has been assigned, over his angry objections, to write a short magazine profile on Mr. Rogers as an American hero. He is bitterly skeptical that this red-sweater-wearing star of children\u2019s television should be anyone\u2019s hero, anything like the character on the screen, so kind, so gentle, so beloved by so many.<\/p>\n

Waving a worn, familiar puppet, a regular character on the show, Mr. Rogers responds to one of Tom\u2019s interview questions with one of his own.\u00a0 \u201cDid you have a special friend like this when you were a child, Tom?\u201d\u00a0 Yes, the annoyed writer responds, testily. Now can we get back to the interview?<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat was his name, Tom?\u201d\u00a0Mr. Rogers persists.\u00a0 Rabbit, answers Tom.\u00a0 Suddenly he pauses, struggling with surprise at the catch in his voice when he adds, \u201cActually, it was Old Rabbit.\u201d<\/p>\n

It was one of the quietest moments in the theater during this heartwarmng film.\u00a0 Nearly every adult present surely was thrown back through misty memory to the warm days of childhood, remembering, maybe even longing for, that most special animal.\u00a0 The particular one that is so tightly wound to the heart of so many young children.<\/p>\n

Everyone except for me.\u00a0Instead, I was thinking about the time just a few years back when my mom sent me an ape.<\/p>\n

Seven or eight years ago—when I was in my fifties, mind you—I had some minor surgery.\u00a0 It was nothing unusual, but I dreaded it, and I told Mom as much a few days before the procedure. \u00a0\u201cYou\u2019ll do fine,\u201d she assured me, \u201cand we\u2019ll check on you.\u201d\u00a0 My sister, a registered nurse, accompanied me to the procedure and hung around a day or two to make sure I was following instructions from the doctor. The next day, the mailman brought a little package showing my parent\u2019s return address.\u00a0 This produced a smile from the patient.\u00a0 Ripping into the box, I thought: Chocolate, to sweeten the long post-op hours?\u00a0 One of my mother\u2019s baubles, to hand down, maybe?<\/p>\n

It was a small stuffed ape, a chimpanzee, I guess.\u00a0 About six or eight inches high, he commands a permanent seated position, his fat, velvety feet pointed ever upward. The plump hands at the end of his long arms feature Velcro strips in the palms, in case you want to walk around with him hugging your wrist, like a designer purse.\u00a0 Most intriguing of all, his eyes are fixed in a sideways glare that is part surprise, part wariness, and part sarcasm, like he has just rolled them upward at your lame joke.<\/p>\n

My sister and I looked at each other, puzzled. My mother\u2019s gift selections have been at times renowned in the family for, shall we call it, creativity.\u00a0 Still, this was a rather surprising selection for a post-op patient.\u00a0What on earth?\u00a0 I said, and my sister just shrugged, unsurprised.\u00a0 I named him Harry, after my mother\u2019s father, an uncle of the same name, and also because he\u2019s a\u2026well, you get the idea.<\/p>\n

Hey, Mom, thanks for the little ape, I chirped the next time she called to check in.\u00a0 What, um, what made you think to send me this?\u00a0 \u201cOh, I just thought he was cute,\u201d she said cheerfully.\u00a0\u201cNow, when do you get your stitches out?\u201d<\/p>\n

It was borne in on me long ago that it would be wise to emulate my mother\u2019s habit of not over-thinking things, so I moved on along to her destinations for the conversation.\u00a0 Harry soon took up residence on my bed, about four decades after a stuffed animal had last been found there.\u00a0 He perches in front of the fancy pillow shams, directly facing the corner spot where the cat spends about half her life dozing. \u00a0(If she is unsettled by the presence of an ape nearby, she has never mentioned it.) \u00a0Sometimes Harry serves as an excellent prop for an open book, his wide feet pointed at just the right angle to boost up the lower edge of the cover.\u00a0 My grandkids occasionally relocate Harry to the guest room for the night; he serves as an excellent stand-in if they are sleeping over and forgot their own favorite friend.\u00a0 And if I am fully forthcoming about Harry\u2019s occupation here, I must admit he has been tear-soaked through more than one episode of deep grief, when my sister died a couple of years after that surgery, my father soon after, and my beloved old dog more recently.<\/p>\n

My grandkids have never questioned why their grandmother would have a small stuffed ape on her bed and would share him as needed.\u00a0 Instinct probably tells them what special grownups like Mr. Rogers and my mother also know—that if we are lucky, and open to it, we let the lovelights of childhood continue to illuminate adult hearts.\u00a0 The tender desires of the very young\u2014for love, comfort, simplicity, friendship, self-respect, encouragement\u2014don\u2019t really change with time. Once in a while, when buffeted by adult-world difficulties, we might need a small symbol to remind us of that. Mr. Rogers knew it.\u00a0 My mother would never give herself credit for such an insight, but she knows it, too.<\/p>\n

Then there\u2019s Harry to remind me, sitting patiently his post, watching carefully out of that side-eye glare.<\/p>\n

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