Frankfurter

I was recently watching Toy Story 3 with the kids. It's very heart warming. I was struck by the notion it put forth that when a child is done with her toys, they suffer being stashed away in hopes that one day they might be hauled out and played with again.

So yesterday, I rooted through our old cedar chest and found, amongst the scrapbooks and oodles of passed-notes from high school, my old monkey: Frankfurter. I had gotten him in my stocking when I was four years old. We were visiting my cousins in Denver for the holidays, and I still recall coming downstairs for Christmas morning and seeing his head peeking out the top of my stocking. For some reason, I think my brother convinced me to name him Goober. It was a great name, and I loved Goober incessantly. Then my brother also got a stuffed monkey, and reclaimed the moniker "Goober". I was left hunting for a new name for my monkey, and for some reason settled on Frankfurter. He is one of the few toys I've kept from my childhood, and he's quite the worse for wear. One of his eyes was chewed off by our dog, and subsequently replaced with one that matches in color if not in shape or size. The stuffing is wearing through the felt on one side of his face, one felt ear is missing and a felt hand is distorted from where I used to suck on them (I know, eeeew. But I can still recall that salty fuzzy feel in my mouth. And yes, I used to eat playdough, too.).

I dug him out and went in search of Riley. Jax was actually with me when I was looking for him, but I knew he would only feed poor Frankfurter to our dog or loose him at the bottom of his toy bin. So, I found Riley outside, collecting sticks to throw for the dogs in an old plastic Halloween bucket. I presented her with Frankfurter (while the dogs looked on, drooling). Telling her that years and years ago, when I was a teenager, he was stashed amongst my things and boxed up to wait for the day when I would have a little girl so he could come out and play again. She looked at him a little warily (can't blame her, he's not so pretty) and promptly asked "Is he a girl or a boy?" "Boy" I replied. Odd, really. He's always been a boy, no question, but all her stuffed animals are invariably girls. She promptly set about trying to find him something to wear, but soon realized that every bit of doll clothing she has is definitely girl. No problem, Frankfurter simply underwent "gender reassignment."

He's been with her everywhere yesterday and today. She tucks him in the front of her shirt so she can more easily galavant around the neighborhood, all the while keeping him from the dogs who eye him jealously, certain that he's supposed to be for them.

Frankfurter couldn't have asked for a better second chance.