I used to watch Chuckie from Rugrats and just go green with envy.
"Why does he have a blankie?! I want one too!!"
But I didn't. My brothers and I all had individual blankets, but who got which one didn't really matter. Blankets had no emotional or sentimental values in our house. Or not for my brothers at least. But they did for me.
For some reason, beyond my comprehension, instead of attaching any sentimental value to the blankets that were being shared by the 3 of us brothers, I attached it to the blanket of my mom. I remember it being a quilt. Pink and cold on the outside, white with blue flowers, warm and snugly on the inside. I loved that blanket. I would always feel so safe, even safer when I was with my mom under it.
I didn't have my own blankie, my blankie was my mom's. And that was more than enough I guess. I miss it though. The last time I saw or felt it was in the 3rd grade, before we got up and migrated to China. And now, it's lost. And all I have is a memory of it. Pink and Awesome!
Eat Well and Good Luck,
Harveyson Go
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