A Word In Edgewise: Cold Comfort Still Warms

Some folks draw the line at cherishing pets that can’t yip, purr, peck or cuddle, but I posit there are legions–at least scattered outliers like myself–that don’t mind if their pet never breathes; nor needs to go potty in downpours, be fed on demand–or fixed.

When my kindergarten teacher, Miss Parisse, asked if I’d like to borrow a book, I was thrilled. A book! Thrilled she’d noticed I read and proud she’d entrust a book into my keeping. Indeed, The Skin Horse affected me deeply.  Written in 1927 by Margery Williams Bianco 1927, it was a sequel to her earlier, now iconic, The Velveteen Rabbit, a title that’s remained in print since its 1922 publication and whose subtitle is, “How Toys Become Real.”

“Skin Horse.” The title alarmed and intrigued–our G. Fox & Company’s downtown Hartford toy department didn’t–or certainly no longer–carried animal playfellows sporting their own hides. The cover art was an eerie Edwardian confection (though my vocabulary didn’t include “Edwardian” for several decades, post-Gorey), nor did I realize that the artist was the author’s 12-year-old daughter, Pamela, already an acknowledged art prodigy whose numinous rendering of the horse and boy combined solace and unease. Such delicate creatures were, obviously, open to dangers from all quarters.

This terminally ill boy, confined in a children’s ward, grows to love and trust his protector, the old Skin Horse comforts and mentors, kindling a light the  child’s eyes as he tells of his previous boy and how he came to be given away to this special boy in this particular ward. Scarlet fever struck the lad in Velveteen Rabbit, and something unnamed yet equally dire lurks here.

I was leading into a Pets and Pride theme, wasn’t I, and yet, here we are with my five-year-old’s memories, a broken horse and a dying child. But hear me out. And don’t shout that bits of wood and wishes can’t compare to your…whatever. I don’t intend to make that claim. But if the inanimate can fill the needy with hope, if both worlds can be made better through love, that’s not small potatoes…

Later I also read The Velveteen Rabbit, where an already well-worn Skin Horse explains “Real” to a downcast bunny:

   “It doesn’t happen all at once. You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”  

And even better news:

  “Once you are Real you can’t become unreal again. It lasts for always.”

My stuffed Polar Bear, Cold Comfort, saw me through many a dark night long ago; today, a small brown fellow has accompanied me to Paris, Amsterdam, Loch Ness and the far Pacific Ocean. In Medford, OR, he met the creator of Disney’s Uncle Scrooge, who in turn introduced his own teddy, Monty. (Mine travels incognito) He was waiting when I regained post-op consciousness at Abbott Northwestern, and I’ll take this moment to thank their staff who took an octogenarian in E3131 hugging his teddy as par for the course.

We all need to give–and take–comfort where we can.