LISE, MY DOLL – stuffing we find comfort in

She was always by my side and next to me in bed. As I got older, we were careful not to get caught together, because it wasn’t right anymore; the embarrassment would have been devastating. I tried to explain it to her, but she just smiled as her deep blue eyes looked into my heart. “It’s alright, Peter, I understand,” she said softly and I felt her warmth. Through her short life, she was the utmost of comfort to me and she never asked for anything in return.

No, this is not the end of some tear-jerking romance novel, but a brief description of my relationship with Dukke Lise (Danish, meaning: a doll named Lise). That's what I called her from the first time we met; I was about one year old. My grandmother might have given her to me, but I doubt it. I asked my Mother, but she can’t remember; she has dementia (my Mother, not Dukke Lise); in some cases she can remember stuff from way back, but not about Lise – I really love my Mother. Why I was given a doll, I never figured out. I’m sure they knew I was a boy, because it’s so easy to check - don’t you think?

The head of my doll consisted of two halves made of molded cardboard; the face and the back of her head. The two halves had rudely been stapled together and topped with a wiry set of stiff, blond hair. But Lise quickly turned bald and stayed that way till the day we parted. But did I care? Not at all and Lise didn’t either. She was mine, we belonged together and I always found great comfort in her – it had no doubt a lot to do with those deep blue eyes and that soft, reassuring voice.

Lise and I parted ways when I was about 24. For some reason my Mother had kept her in a box for so many years. One day I was visiting, she told me that she had finally thrown Lise out, open bald skull and all. I remember I was saddened by that, because she wouldn’t be here anymore to remind me of all those great chats we had had through so many years, the comfort she gave me during tough times, and the sharing of so many happy childhood moments. I also miss her blue, long-sleeved denim dress and the white apron, so totally worn out; and then I moved on.

In early parts of our lives we find comfort and safety in inanimate things, that being teddy bears, stuffed bunnies named Fluffy, animals of all sorts, dolls and blankets, to name a few. We confess our deepest secrets, our emotional highs and lows to them and in return we get unconditional love, understanding and friendship; as uncomplicated as that is - as powerful and simple it is. But what about today; have you fully dropped all this? I can't say I have. So how about you; are you brave enough to confess?

I have always been a sucker for stuffed animals, but now I’m supposedly too “adult”. I can't carry them around anymore, bring them along on planes and travels or even have them share my pillow; also because the dog and the cat won’t give up any of “their” space of same pillow. When I see this big cuddly teddy bear with those cute eyes sitting together a bit too close, which makes Teddy look even more adorable, I reach for my wallet and I’m ready to adopt. But then I snap back to act my age, I close the wallet and quietly say "sorry" (while nobody is watching, duh!) I could of course say it’s for my grandchild – but I don’t have one and I’m not going to start lying, not even for a stuffed bear; I’m sure he’ll understand.

But I’m not quite totally “adult”, as I do have several renditions of Tigger from Winnie the Pooh in front of me, on the shelf above the PC. I even have a picture of my wife, with an image of Tigger and the word BOUNCY on the colorful frame. And that is what he is, so energetic and BOUNCY; a very good inspiration as well as he is so utterly cute. On the sofa behind me in the office, sits a collection of many Tiggers in several sizes, seriously; Oh, and I have a stuffed Tigger key-ring… Do you?

As kids we more so held on to our safety blankets and stuffed friends, because they did work a lot of magic. But I also believe that I’m not alone in the pretend-friend world I find myself in now, as mature adult as can be (and good luck with that). Case in point: my pal Tigger.

If I have to explain myself, Tigger gives me some form of comfort at times, but now it’s more so about the image of Tigger. I see innocence, energy, simplicity and then that happy BOUNCING stuff; all so very positive – and there is nothing wrong with that – according to my psychiatrist, probation officer, Kirkegaard and Freud. And he does make me smile – he really does; not Kirkegaard (God forbid), but Tigger (Kirkegaard was such an introverted sour-puss and so depressing hanging out with, really; not the life of any party).

So what stuffed comfort animal do YOU hide behind your back? You see, I have no doubts that most of us have something and when it’s “most of us” it can legally be filed under normal and average (if we don’t get carried away or get caught?)

Do I also find comfort because Tigger never disagrees with what I communicate to him? Is it the grand listening skills he has? When we are frustrated, we find therapy in talking, as in thinking out loud, and Tigger is all (cute) ears, he really is. That is what we need the most when something is on our minds or in our hearts – a really good listener.

Of course adult females are more up front with all this, where males are not willing to share so easily. But since I have confessed, would some other representative of the male species please step forward? Nah, you don’t have to – we already know who you are (remember: you left your Web-cam on)...

I used to be into anything Snoopy – big time, but as with so many other things, we change and it has been Tigger ever since. And all this makes so much sense when you look into those cute eyes of his; don’t you agree? Try it...

What is there NOT to love? He made you smile, didn’t he?

          

I miss Dukke Lise – I really do. I should have held on to her as she would have kept so many childhood memories even more so alive, kept them perhaps more vibrant and colorful; her physical presence might have connected me to that time of my life in a fuller way. But I did move on and I have since managed just fine without her; Tigger took care of that, he really did.

Tigger would have loved Dukke Lise; they would have been great pals, with Lise so sensible and balanced and Tigger so bouncing around like crazy; good pals, just as Lise and I were– I have no doubts about that... and I don't care how adult or not you think that is - or perhaps I do?

Till next Monday: hug a bear – make sure it’s a stuffed one, please...

            

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