During a recent spring cleaning campaign, I stumbled upon a stash of bulky things I was hanging on only due to sentimentality. I'm working on releasing my attachment to stuff, and so am cataloguing these memory-evoking but technically useless and non-decorative items and then releasing them on their way.
Aside from standard childhood shenanigans, I was an almost compulsively well-behaved kid. The idea of committing a social faux pas would completely paralyze me in fear. I had an incredibly deep-seated need to be liked, and would only step out of line when I felt extremely safe.
This fearful polite behavior, as one might expect, would occasionally build up and be kind of stressful. I'm guessing that's why I adopted a very silly habit.
Rebecca: a strange child's alter-ego puppet
Meet Rebecca. Rebecca is a raccoon hand puppet, and for years was my official Alter Ego (TM). She was voiced by laughably transparent and squeaky ventriloquism, and liked getting into people's faces. I would insist that people interact with her directly instead of talking to me.
She made it a habit to be as annoying and obnoxious as possible, likely to contrast my own demeanor. My mother once commented that 'irritating' was the puppet's middle name, a statement that I took literally. Thereafter, she would endlessly introduce herself as Rebecca the Irritating Raccoon.
She used to have a nose, but I remember shattering it by banging Rebecca's face onto the back of the home team dugout at a minor league game one summer. I have no idea why the face banging. Rebecca's ways were pretty mysterious.
I have no clue as to the origin of the brownish stains on her left ear.
A fair amount of the stuffing seems to be missing from her head.
In short, this was one well-loved and consequently now extremely ratty hand puppet. It's actually kind of disgusting at this point. Rebecca was an important part of my childhood (bizarre though she was), but I don't need the physical falling-apart, stained, broken. slightly smelly puppet to remind me of that. I have pictures! See, up there at the top of this post!
So, Rebecca, it's time to set you free. You don't need to sit around in a trunk in my garage just to remind me of a very silly aspect of my past.
The trouble is that I'm not sure how to do that. She's certainly not in good enough shape for any other child to want her. I'd feel pretty weird putting an old friend, disgusting or no, in the garbage. She's made of synthetic material, so probably wouldn't burn very well.
So, readers... any ideas?