When I was about six years old, I saw a stuffed animal Possum at Cracker Barrel and fell in love with it.  I ran over to my mom, who was browsing the home décor, and she made a face that implicitly said “that thing is hideous.”  When I brought the black, bald-tailed Possum to my Nana, she of course, seeing my chubby-cheeked granddaughter smile, bought it for me.  I named my new Possum “Pal,” and he truly lived up to his name.  I took him everywhere.  At the neighborhood playground, Pal hung by his tail on the slide as I frolicked around, and at night, he slept right next to me in bed amongst a growing collection of stuffed animals.  I loved Pal, and for a while, Possums became my favorite creatures.
 

One day, which I vividly remember, my best friend and her mom stopped by while I was in the bathroom.  I skipped out of the bathroom with my new best Pal in tow, into the kitchen where they sat talking with my mom.  My friend hadn’t seen Pal yet, and I was excited to show her.  The giddy smile fled from my face when my friend’s mom turned around, saw Pal, and said “What is that thing?!” I said, “well, this is Pal, he’s my Possum!” to which I got the reply “Pal is very creepy looking” in the amused manner that adults usually bestow on silly children.  To this day, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so angry or insulted.  I proudly carried Pal into my room, shut the door, and shed some tears, telling him that he wasn’t creepy or ugly at all and that I thought he was the cutest stuffed animal in the world.  Despite the fact that, more often than not, Pal provoked funny responses in adults, I took him everywhere with me for years.  When his bald tail snagged on something and split open, my Nana sewed it up with visible criss-cross stitch formations.  Looking back at Pal, who still sits in my closet, I see how pitiful and truly creepy his beady eyes and Frankenstein tail look.  However, the sight of him gives me a sense of nostalgic comfort, and I think I would still be offended if someone called him ugly or creepy.

Yesterday I was in Kohl’s looking for graduation dresses, and I spotted a rack of stuffed animals by the register.  Each stuffed animal correlated to a children’s book, which were also being sold, and 100 percent of the profit went to children in need.  There were books about chamelions, frogs, alligators, fish, birds, and mice, but I noticed that the stuffed animals were very picked over.  About three frogs and five alligators remained, and the rest were all mice: twenty-five of them.  The mouse, named Frederick, was obviously the ugliest stuffed animal, and it very poorly resembled the illustrated Frederick.  For some odd reason, the mouse drew my eye right away, and I found something charmingly adorable in its awkward peanut-shaped body, bald tail, stubby limbs, mischievous face, and gigantic ears.  Frederick reminded me of Pal, and at seventeen years old, I just had to make the purchase.

I think if I were to describe myself to a complete stranger in one simple sentence, I would say “I love ugly stuffed animals.” Children always go for the soft, adorable stuffed dogs or teddy bears, but I went for the beady-eyed Possum with the bald tail and the buzz cut.  Many of my passions emanate the same aura as Pal and Frederick :  my soulful, folky music taste certainly is not admired by many people, and my favorite art and literature are the darkest ones, the ones that make most people uncomfortable.  I like the things that most people shy away from: I appreciate the unappreciated, I find the stormiest days the most beautiful, and I often feel the least lonely when I am alone.  My favorite types of people are the ones who love the unloved and think in unexpected ways.  I have found solace in this “black sheep” phenomenon since I was a little girl, proudly towing around a beady-eyed, bald-tailed possum named Pal. 

Yes, I am undoubtedly a lover of ugly stuffed animals.