I grew up on a block with a ton of kids in Washington, D.C. We formed clubs, rode trikes/ bikes/ big wheels in the alley, and caught fireflies while our parents chatted on the front porches (with drinks). There were neighborhood Christmas parties after caroling in the winter, and block parties in the summer. It sounds idyllic, right?
Not quite. Every mom on the block felt entitled to discipline any child on the block. We probably deserved whatever scoldings they gave us. But those same moms also felt free to laugh and comment on my thoroughly lopsided look when my older sister cut my hair. They tsk-tsked relentlessly at the two centimeters of bangs left when I cut my hair. My messy face, poor bike riding skills, and mismatched socks were equally fair game. (To be fair, the comment on bike riding probably only happened after I lost control, plowed through a flower garden, and took paint off a fence.)
The main target of these moms, though, was Blankey. Blankey was the name of my baby blanket and I loved him (yes, I anthropomorphized Blankey to the point of being male). Blankey was my constant companion. I tied him on my bike, chewed on him, and rat-tailed my siblings with him (always in self-defense, of course). He was my cape, my hat, or my skirt. He was undoubtedly filthy.
Which might explain why those mothers were so anti-Blankey:
“Aren’t you too old for a blanket?”
“Don’t you think you should leave that thing at home?”
“Why are you carrying around a rag?”
Even a five-year-old knew these were rhetorical questions, asked solely to air the questioner’s own disapproval. I glowered and said nothing.
And then came the evening of a multi-family barbecue. A few too many cocktails turned one less-than-stable mom into a nasty drunk. She spotted Blankey and me, shook her head, and loudly proclaimed, “I can’t believe you’ve still got that thing. You’re going to be walking down the aisle some day, carrying your blanket!”
The other parents, equally lubed up, thought this was hilarious.
I did not find this hilarious. I vowed then and there that if I ever got married, I damn well WOULD carry Blankey down the aisle with me.
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I eventually packed Blankey away with other childhood treasures. I’m pretty sure I did it before high school, but I wouldn’t swear to that. Don’t get all judgey like those Moms, either. Kids took comfort anywhere we could find it in our house(s).
Parents divorced, houses were sold, stuff was moved, and my belongings wound up all over the Eastern Seaboard. My Ex-Stepfather spent years trying to get the lingering possessions of nine children out of his basement. (I think he finally succeeded last February.) Every time I’d visit, he’d have at least one box waiting and send it away with me. Once, when he found out I had a layover from Italy at Dulles Airport, he showed up with two backpacks of my stuff. Sadly, neither backpack had Blankey.
I checked my father’s house in Utah after I got engaged. He had some furniture and Christmas ornaments, but no boxes. I figured Blankey must have been thrown out along with my Glee Club Sweaters and prom souvenirs. And I was sad.
How was I going to keep my spiteful, five-year-old self’s screw-you promise if I couldn’t find Blankey?
Ex-Stepmother #1 came through for me, as she often does. When I brought Andy to her house for Christmas and New Hampshire wedding planning, she asked me if I was going to wear my mother’s wedding dress.
I remembered my parents’ miserable marriage and shuddered. “No way. That’s some bad juju, right there. Also, I don’t know where her dress is.”
Ex-Stepmother #1 said, “It’s in the basement.”
I did a double take. “Wait. How did you wind up with the dress of your ex-husband’s ex-wife? I mean, you and my mom hated each other.” I VIVIDLY remember the two of them screaming at each other on the sidewalk in front of our D.C. house. It was the only public scene ever in my white childhood.
Ex-Stepmother #1 actually smiled, like she was remembering good times. “That was a long time ago. I am sure that if your mother were still alive, we would be good friends now.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I could see that. If nothing else, you’d have your own ‘I survived being married to Mr. Ashbough’ support group.”
Ex-Stepmother #1 giggled. And looked guilty. She regained her composure and said, “Anyway, after she died and your Ex-Stepfather was getting rid of everything, I made sure I hung onto her dress for you girls.”
Have I mentioned before how extraordinary and kind Ex-Stepmother #1 is? She held onto that dress for hundreds of miles and three moves. But she wasn’t done.
And then she said, “You have some boxes down there, too.” Extraordinary CUBED. Kindness CUBED. That is Ex-Stepmother #1.
I immediately dragged Andy down to the basement and ripped open those boxes. I found my scrapbooks, choir mementos, yearbooks, and finally, tucked away in an old purse from my racist grandmother, a long scrap of fabric. It was, indeed, my beloved Blankey.
With no small sense of satisfaction, I sent Blankey off to the florist and requested that he be wrapped around my bouquet.
They called and said, “What?”
I told them the story. They asked if they could cut him down to a smaller size to better fit the bouquet. I agreed, and soon the biggest remnant of Blankey arrived back in LA. But the best part of Blankey, the favorite corner that comforted me as a child, stayed in New Hampshire. Waiting for his big day, when we would walk down the aisle together.
Just like I promised.
I think it was an amazing childhood. Considering you need a chart to track the family connections, there are some good memories there. And yay for Blanky!
Oh, yeah, Doc Sis nicknamed us “feral children.” Now it seems like kids are scheduled within an inch of their lives.
Oh that is cute!
I never had my special thing as a child, I pretty much destroyed anything within a 25m radius. Toys, dolls, clothes, my own hair (yes I enjoyed “refreshing my hairstyle” with kitchen scissors whenever my poor mom looked away), you name it. Now I kinda regret not having a special thing from my childhood, but more importantly I am scared as hell my future children will inherit my criminal genes and make my life a hell until they go to college.
Oh, that is funny about your hair. Maybe I would have been more creative with my hair — and my things — if those neighborhood moms hadn’t been so disapproving.
Your kids will be your mother’s revenge.
Love this, Autumn … love your Ex-Stepmother #1 too!
She is pretty amazing. Thanks!
I’ll have to tell this story to my sister. She had a blankey too (same name), and she kept it long enough to get teased about it. She also made sure her son had a blankey. The other thing she did until she was–oh, I don’t know–maybe ten years old was what we called bouncing. When she was tired, she bounced her back rhythmically against the back of a chair and sang, “ee-ee-ay-ay-ee-ee-ay” over and over.
A blankey is essential! Hopefully all the shamefaced blankey-lovers of the world will be inspired. We could form the “Linus Club.” Or maybe “Linus Recovery Club?” 😉
This was an amazing read, Autumn. Not exactly humourous like the others I have read, but very poignant, touching and emotional. You are a good writer 🙂 There really are some things that mean so much to us – we don’t realise how much time we’ve spent with them until they are gone.
So a piece of Blankey went with your bouquet? And what happened to the rest? Very happy you kept your promise, and you certainly have kind people in your life. That is a gift.
Like you, I had a Blankey growing up. On the day I was born, my aunt gifted me with a child’s blanket with teddy-bear-holding-lollipop prints over it. I slept with it, took it out to play in the lounge, propped a corner of it sitting up and said that that was Blankey’s face…yeah, I was a weird kid. After moving houses, cities and countries numerous times, I still have my Blankey today and use it each night as I go to sleep. Unfortunately my brother cut off Blankey’s face a few years ago and it was never recovered 🙁 But like you, I am glad to have the biggest piece of Blankey by my side today 🙂
Mabel, I am so glad you had Blankey with you during all your moves. That’s tough on a kid. I never understood the desire to just rip a child’s lovey (be it teddy bear or blanket) away from them. Especially from parents. If a kid is hanging onto an item for comfort, maybe the parent ought to try and figure out why. And if it is due to moving or another sort of upheaval that can’t be helped, they should just be grateful the kid found comfort somewhere.
Siblings are another matter entirely, though. Big Brother used to hold my Blankey over the toilet and threaten to flush it.
I think many parents feel that toys or blankets etc. are petty. Sometimes they mean the world to a kid and keep the child occupied for hours on end. I think my parents let me keep my Blankey because it was practical – I could keep warm with it. A lot of my stuffed toys my parents eagerly donated to the charities despite my protesting.
I am glad your Blankey didn’t go down the toilet bowl. Even if it did get into the toilet bowl, it would be awesome and not let itself go down the pipe 😀
Yes, Blankey would have undoubtedly clogged the pipes! My dad would have gone ballistic. Luckily, Big Brother ultimately had a sense of self-preservation. 😉
Wow… what a awesome ex-stepmom. So glad you reconnected with blankie…. Love that Blankie walked down the aisle with you. Sweet!
I also have a really great step-mom and I think you are onto something with extraordinary cubed!
My step-sister has a beloved blankey and stuffed animal (Ross) she’s kept since she was a toddler. She’s in her mid-30’s now and still keeps them on her bed. Ross has been everywhere with her, including Cuba and Los Cabos. Lucky bear.
I had a teddy I loved as a kid and I’m not sure what happened to him. Sad. It’s fun to be reunited with such treasures as an adult. I did manage to find my first Barbie doll and it was as if we had never parted.
Wow. Your sister’s memoirs should be “My Travels with Ross.” Or “Have Bear, Will Travel.”
I never met anyone else with a stepmother they adored! Is yours a teacher, too?
Ummm, she is actually a colon therapist (I shit you not). Butt she is awesome.
Laughing and groaning at the same time.
Is that Blankey in the pictures? o3o
I had a yellow blanket when I was a kid, which was then my sister’s. She still has it. And uses it. Pfft. I had to give up on my blankey. >< But I had stuffed toys. And a doll or two.
Of course, they were donated some years ago, by my mother to charity. Well, some of them. Others are (p)laying around my grandparents' home. xD I sometimes go and say hi to them, ahahha. xD I'm weird. xDDD
Oh yeah, I was their clothes designers too. XD My toys were certainly happy. Until sis decided to give them a make-up session. ._.
You gave your sister your blanket?! Wow. There is truly no greater gift. Except maybe a kidney.
No, mom gave it to her. D:
That is beautiful . My second daughter had a blanket witch she carried around it Was call Lully a crouchted at the of disregarded I decedided to wash it and my Daughter sat under the clothes line waiting for it to dry but some howshe was able to reach a thread that was hanging down so she would get her Lully off the clothes line herself. Moments later I hear this owfull scream coming from out side , there under the line was a pile of wool heaped up on her lap and she is saying where is my Lully between the sobs ??????
Oh, my God! That is both hilarious and heartbreaking. I feel her pain.