Favorite Object

            George is integral to my life. He is my friend, my confidante, my support, and my comfort. He is there in times of stress, joy, and persistent silliness. He is a stuffed toy monkey, also known as Curious George, ten inches of velour and huggable cuteness. I could not think of my childhood without him.

            My initial encounter with him was when my aunt gave him to me when I was two years old. Initially, I did not care very much about him, but the next year, during my sickness and afterwards, he was with me constantly. Due to his importance, for many years he has spent his days in the most important part of my room – at the head of my bed – whether I am at home, in college, or here in Philadelphia.

            I could research into how the story of Curious George came about, the history of stuffed animals, how they are made, the materials that are used, or I could study children’s literature of the early 1990s and how it was popular to make stuffed animals from beloved storybooks. But this would not explain how George was so important to me because I had projected so much emotional attachment onto him. Others might say he is “just a toy,” a stuffed animals to be easily dismissed and that he is not worthy of importance or respect. But for me, he is significant indeed because I have created a personality for him, I have talked with him, I wrote stories about him, and with my parents’ help, he has come to have a voice. He is not just the curious monkey who gets into trouble in the H. A. Rey books; he is also the one who would teach me math when I was a child while I would teach him spelling.

            I know that there are many stuffed animals out there, but for me, there are none that are quite so much like George.