An Essay For Ms. Casale

P-P-P-Piglet

Zooming down the highway, my grandpa at the wheel, I nervously sat in the backseat of his monstrous Cadillac. My four-year old mind roved in out and out of the car -where would this trip take me? What events were planned for the marvelous day ahead? - If only I had been able to foresee that on that very day I would receive one of my most treasured possessions. Kids all about me would receive toys; I, a fortune of soon-to-be careworn Piglet .

It would prove impossible for me to perceive those events though, for as soon as the Cadillac was parked, I was running into the Grand Floridian at Disney World. Trotting straight into the dining area, grandfather catching up quickly, we agreed that it was a perfect time for brunch. As the waitress seated the two of us at a luxurious booth (I sank like a princess into the plushly padded seat), I could see every happening in the vicinity. Sucking in all there was to witness, my eyes soon rested upon an unfamiliar scene: Disney characters flooding the room. At their appearance, I immediately clung to my grandpa for safety. I, not realizing the friendly performers’ purposes, began to let tears slide down my cheeks, distressing my grandfather at once. Acting as my hero, he took me outside, allowing nerves to settle and gasping to become smooth again. Then he did the most natural action for a grandparent: brought me to the Disney toy-store cleverly located within the hotel.

A sudden array of colors --walls filled to the brim with childhood delights and Disney paraphernalia-- all vied for my curiosity at once. And then, a nubby, pastel-green tummy caught my eye. With its faded pink nose and worn eggshell scarf, the piglet looked undesirable to any other child but myself. This odd little pig, who faintly resembled Piglet from Winnie the Pooh, promptly put a smile on my face in a way that no other thing on earth could have. This new friend of mine, as he became mine within minutes, was seemingly covered in dust that had been acquired by sitting neglected on the shelf waiting for me. Never again would his soft and pre-worn cloth be dusty -dirty, maybe, but not dusty. Piglet’s clean fabric would soon be stained in various patches -mother often wondered where these blotches originated from. Along with the many washes he would endure, to the needle and thread he was no stranger either. Mother played surgeon on more than one occasion; the only reason Piglet is with me today is mother’s unmatched sewing skills and her brilliance on the operating table.

Many days, coming home from a days’ hard play, I would look down at the nubbied hand in my own and see a tad of stuffing peeping out from within. Often times, piglet’s precious tummy would rip while falling out of a tree, playing ball (he was the ball), or getting caught in a game of friendly tug-o-war with the neighborhood terrier. These special blotches and tears stood as reminders of childhood battles well won and harrowing adventures fulfilled with my best-mate at my side; they are each an individual story themselves, but put together, they complete my childhood best friend.