For various reasons, I never had a gamma, nana, gam-gam, or whatever else you people call your grandmothers (There’s an interesting poll, what do you call your grandma? Comment below). At any rate, this post has nothing to do with any childhood trauma, real or imagined, that I may or may not have suffered. Instead, this post has to do with how much I loved E.T.

I was lucky. I had a stuffed E.T., and not the one you’re thinking of with the fake leathery skin. Mine was soft, like any other stuffed animal, only better. My E.T. had big, beautiful eyes, aforementioend soft skin, and stood at least two feet high. It was amazing and I’ve never seen another one before or since. I don’t know where the Easter Bunny got it that year, but I’m sure glad he did.

E.T. was my favorite. I wasn’t really one to take stuffed-animals with me everywhere, but I did like to sleep with them. It was, however, a selective process. At that age, I had a hand-me-down bunk bed from an older cousin. The bottom bunk typically contained me, while the top bunk typically contained further hand-me-downs in the form of stuffed animals, as well as a considerable amount of new ones attributed to my being an only child. I don’t think it would be an exaggeration to say that I had at least 50 stuffed animals. Every night, I would choose one or two to make the honored journey to the lower bunk. When E.T. showed up, his brilliance out-shining the chocolate bunny and Cadbury Cream Eggs, he made the first string rotation immediately.

He was perfect for the job. His long neck and large, soft head made him ideal for clutching close to me while using his cranium for a pillow. Oh, and he loved me, too. Did I mention that?

Anyway, grandmothers. If I had one like this, I’d be much more tweaked than I already am…shudder the thought.

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