Home > television, Uncategorized > Cross-dressing bunnies and my kid’s imagination

Cross-dressing bunnies and my kid’s imagination

So, like every other spoiled rotten upper middle class child in North America, my kid has lots of stuffed animals. Lots of them. Lots and lots and lots of them. I’ve got a basket three feet long, three feet wide, and two feet deep that I keep full of her stuffed animals. And that’s after some serious culling — I gave away or donated about two-thirds of her menagerie one day in a fit of … well, just a fit.

But the ones she’s got left have started to develop little personalities and story lines. This is all my doing — I make up stories about anything and everything. I tell The Child stories about the people in the planes overhead and about the ladies walking their dogs on the bike path and about the imaginary fairies who live in the community garden and, lately, about her stuffed animals.

There’s Night-Night Bunny. He’s a slouchy white rabbit with long droopy ears and a floppy body. She often puts a tiny Red Sox hat on him and loops a set of purple Mardi Gras beads around his neck. So, pretty quickly, he became a famous if eccentric closing pitcher for the Sox, a veteran knuckleballer with a narrow shoulders, a lazy slouch, and reputation for keeping cool under pressure. He’s so good, in fact, that the ball club ignore reports that he likes to party at the clubs on Landsdowne St. wearing women’s clothing occasionally.

Then there’s Diamond Jim Bunny, railroad magnate, epicure, glutton, and New York City dandy. (He’s got a huge carrot embroidered on one foot, so carrot > carat > diamond > Diamond Bunny > Diamond Jim Bunny. This is much funnier if you know anything about Diamond Jim Brady.)

She’s got a teddy bear wearing a Burberry plaid jumper that we’ve named Catalin (after the girl who gave it to her). Catalina speaks in a Cockney accent and is a chav. A Manchester United fan, likes Dr. Who.

Her toy frog is named Dauphin. (For non geeks, that’s French for ‘prince’. Get it?) Her toy dinosaur is an archeopteryx  named Bunker. (Archeopteryx, archie, archie bunker….)

I worry sometimes that I’m squashing her imagination for making up all this stuff about her toys rather than letting her make it up herself. Then I worry that I’ve lost my tiny little mind.

Categories: television, Uncategorized
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