I remember reading “Roverandom” to my kids a few years ago! There’s a similar story about Kafka. While walking in a park, he met a little girl who was crying because of a lost doll. It is said that he wrote letters to the little girl from the doll, insisting that she wasn’t lost—merely traveling. There’s a lovely picture book called “Kafka and the Doll” that retells the story.
As for losing things, my college dormitory was hit by an EF-4 tornado. I was saddest to lose a teddy bear named Ollie. He was my mom’s childhood bear, passed down to me, and I still remember the rough feel of his fur and his sweet glass eyes. My younger son’s middle name is Oliver, in part, because of my lost bear.
I told a version of the following lost toy story for Inktober a couple of years ago...
On Feb 8, 1973, a storm dropped 16 inches of snow on Warner Robins, Georgia. I was three and a half years old. This snowstorm made a big impression on me. I had quite a large Tonka truck that got completely buried; it was just the slightest bulge in the snow. Being unfamiliar with the idea of melting snow, I never expected to see that Tonka truck again. But the snow did melt, and I found out, as you said, Sam, that what's lost isn't always lost. This is one of my earliest memories.
That snowstorm very much gave me the wrong idea as to what I could expect from Middle Georgia winters going forward.
Recently I was standing on the shore of Lake Superior when I looked down and saw a little matchbox car upside down in the water. I had my husband reach in and grab it for me, and couldn’t help but wonder if some little boy or girl was missing it. It was like new, so I brought it home and added it to the assortment of cars that my grandkids enjoying playing with. A lost car, but also a found car.
I suspect that a child missing his or her toy car would not be happy to hear that someone else found it and is playing with it. Like me when I forget ideas only to find them again in someone else’s work! I often think, in a moment of envy, that I should have grabbed onto that idea when I had the chance. But maybe some ideas really are better off in someone else’s hands.
We also read Roverandom with our children. We read it with our boys and then with our daughter when she got older.
I have always had a fear of losing beloved toys, so I tended to leave them at home. My older brother lost his favorite bunny rabbit when he was 3 or 4 because he let it get some fresh air on a car ride. That being said, I did travel with my favorite rabbit into adulthood. At one point she was with me on Spring Break and I was a passenger in a multi-car crash on the highway. The small car that I was in had its rear smashed and the trunk was not really a trunk anymore. When the paramedics got to me, I kept asking about the trunk (my neck hurt and I couldn’t see behind me well) and if they saw a stuffed rabbit. I was twenty at the time, but my inner eight year old was in charge at the moment. Those dear emergency responders found my rabbit and gave her to me while I waited for the ambulance. Flopsy rode with me to the hospital and after we got home, she got a bath and was good as her 12 years would allow. My neck took a couple weeks to get better. Miraculously, my possessions were mostly intact. I needed a new suitcase and I would fight the insurance company for the next several months to cover my medical expenses, but Flopsy was ok, so I was ok too. (Flopsy went on to have many new adventures and now lives in retirement. She occasionally graces sleep overs hosted by my daughter.)
My brother once buried some action figures in the yard and they’ve never come back. We’ve dug up that yard to put in pavers but Tweak and Dashi of the Octonauts have never been found.
On a deeper level, this has given me some peace in relation to my feeling like I’m losing my childhood. There are so many books that talk about how boring and dull grownups become and I have this innate fear of forever losing touch with my childhood and teen years— and in the process, losing touch with my readers. I’m young enough now that I know what being a teen still feels like, but what about in ten years? What if I forget, and then I can’t relate to my readers anymore?
But that poem at the end… mmmm. So good. I needed that reminder.
Great post! It’s so true about the lost ideas. In all the best ones, we’re reaching for something that’s beyond us anyway.
One of my daughters has a beloved stuffed animal named Purple Bunny. This was her favorite from before she was two years old until she was eight or nine. C was always devastated if she had to go to sleep without Purple Bunny, but…she also took Purple Bunny absolutely everywhere. Over the years, Purple Bunny has been Lost and Found many times. There were many occasions of calling local businesses where she had been left behind. There was more than one instance of Purple Bunny being left outside in the elements and reappearing, as if by magic—-but also bearing the marks of being caught in the jaws of some foul beast or other. (Two of these instances required surgery under the needle of Grandma’s sewing machine. One required a total ear transplant. It was not pretty.) Just a week or two ago I was actually re-reading Roverandom and thought…you know, I really missed an opportunity to invent all sorts of misadventures for Purple Bunny during her absences. I think I was too tired with all the babies and toddlers to think of such a thing in the moment.
I don't have a memory of a lost toy, but when I was around five, I traded a Cowgirl Barbie for a Barbie sticker book. It felt like a loss when I realized how quickly the sticker book was finished. I carefully stuck the images of Barbie onto each page with my nimble five-year-old fingers, but the sticker book couldn't compete in value with the Cowgirl Barbie, who could blink her blue-eyeshadowed eyelids and run her fingers through her hair when I pulled her right-angled arms back. I still think about what a poor trade that was, and I wonder if the older girl who hornswoggled me into it ever auctioned that Barbie off on Ebay, where the going-rate is sixty bucks.
I remember reading “Roverandom” to my kids a few years ago! There’s a similar story about Kafka. While walking in a park, he met a little girl who was crying because of a lost doll. It is said that he wrote letters to the little girl from the doll, insisting that she wasn’t lost—merely traveling. There’s a lovely picture book called “Kafka and the Doll” that retells the story.
As for losing things, my college dormitory was hit by an EF-4 tornado. I was saddest to lose a teddy bear named Ollie. He was my mom’s childhood bear, passed down to me, and I still remember the rough feel of his fur and his sweet glass eyes. My younger son’s middle name is Oliver, in part, because of my lost bear.
Beautiful article. Thanks for sharing.
That's tragic and sort of beautiful, Heather! You should write a post about that!
Or a book!
Great post, Sam!
I told a version of the following lost toy story for Inktober a couple of years ago...
On Feb 8, 1973, a storm dropped 16 inches of snow on Warner Robins, Georgia. I was three and a half years old. This snowstorm made a big impression on me. I had quite a large Tonka truck that got completely buried; it was just the slightest bulge in the snow. Being unfamiliar with the idea of melting snow, I never expected to see that Tonka truck again. But the snow did melt, and I found out, as you said, Sam, that what's lost isn't always lost. This is one of my earliest memories.
That snowstorm very much gave me the wrong idea as to what I could expect from Middle Georgia winters going forward.
Recently I was standing on the shore of Lake Superior when I looked down and saw a little matchbox car upside down in the water. I had my husband reach in and grab it for me, and couldn’t help but wonder if some little boy or girl was missing it. It was like new, so I brought it home and added it to the assortment of cars that my grandkids enjoying playing with. A lost car, but also a found car.
I suspect that a child missing his or her toy car would not be happy to hear that someone else found it and is playing with it. Like me when I forget ideas only to find them again in someone else’s work! I often think, in a moment of envy, that I should have grabbed onto that idea when I had the chance. But maybe some ideas really are better off in someone else’s hands.
That reminds me of that one Bluey episode
I’ve never seen a single Bluey episode.
I was a late adopter but I LOVE Bluey. Best TV show of the past few years (only good TV show of the last few years?)
We also read Roverandom with our children. We read it with our boys and then with our daughter when she got older.
I have always had a fear of losing beloved toys, so I tended to leave them at home. My older brother lost his favorite bunny rabbit when he was 3 or 4 because he let it get some fresh air on a car ride. That being said, I did travel with my favorite rabbit into adulthood. At one point she was with me on Spring Break and I was a passenger in a multi-car crash on the highway. The small car that I was in had its rear smashed and the trunk was not really a trunk anymore. When the paramedics got to me, I kept asking about the trunk (my neck hurt and I couldn’t see behind me well) and if they saw a stuffed rabbit. I was twenty at the time, but my inner eight year old was in charge at the moment. Those dear emergency responders found my rabbit and gave her to me while I waited for the ambulance. Flopsy rode with me to the hospital and after we got home, she got a bath and was good as her 12 years would allow. My neck took a couple weeks to get better. Miraculously, my possessions were mostly intact. I needed a new suitcase and I would fight the insurance company for the next several months to cover my medical expenses, but Flopsy was ok, so I was ok too. (Flopsy went on to have many new adventures and now lives in retirement. She occasionally graces sleep overs hosted by my daughter.)
WOW! What a story.
My brother once buried some action figures in the yard and they’ve never come back. We’ve dug up that yard to put in pavers but Tweak and Dashi of the Octonauts have never been found.
On a deeper level, this has given me some peace in relation to my feeling like I’m losing my childhood. There are so many books that talk about how boring and dull grownups become and I have this innate fear of forever losing touch with my childhood and teen years— and in the process, losing touch with my readers. I’m young enough now that I know what being a teen still feels like, but what about in ten years? What if I forget, and then I can’t relate to my readers anymore?
But that poem at the end… mmmm. So good. I needed that reminder.
Great post! It’s so true about the lost ideas. In all the best ones, we’re reaching for something that’s beyond us anyway.
One of my daughters has a beloved stuffed animal named Purple Bunny. This was her favorite from before she was two years old until she was eight or nine. C was always devastated if she had to go to sleep without Purple Bunny, but…she also took Purple Bunny absolutely everywhere. Over the years, Purple Bunny has been Lost and Found many times. There were many occasions of calling local businesses where she had been left behind. There was more than one instance of Purple Bunny being left outside in the elements and reappearing, as if by magic—-but also bearing the marks of being caught in the jaws of some foul beast or other. (Two of these instances required surgery under the needle of Grandma’s sewing machine. One required a total ear transplant. It was not pretty.) Just a week or two ago I was actually re-reading Roverandom and thought…you know, I really missed an opportunity to invent all sorts of misadventures for Purple Bunny during her absences. I think I was too tired with all the babies and toddlers to think of such a thing in the moment.
I love all these great stories!
I don't have a memory of a lost toy, but when I was around five, I traded a Cowgirl Barbie for a Barbie sticker book. It felt like a loss when I realized how quickly the sticker book was finished. I carefully stuck the images of Barbie onto each page with my nimble five-year-old fingers, but the sticker book couldn't compete in value with the Cowgirl Barbie, who could blink her blue-eyeshadowed eyelids and run her fingers through her hair when I pulled her right-angled arms back. I still think about what a poor trade that was, and I wonder if the older girl who hornswoggled me into it ever auctioned that Barbie off on Ebay, where the going-rate is sixty bucks.