my oldest stuffed animal licorice the lion

I'm so excited to start a new feature on my blog called "The Story of Things." Over the past few years, I've been thinking about minimalism. I'm attracted to the minimalist lifestyle because of the neatness and simplicity it provides, yet, I'm not ready to get rid of all my stuff. I read a quote once that described minimalism this way: minimalism isn't about having nothing. It's about having just the right amount of something. I like the flexibility and personal interpretation this definition provides.

As I've gone through my home and peeled back layers of my belongings to only things I genuinely love, use, and enjoy, it got me thinking: How can I honor those items even more? My answer came: through storytelling. Every few weeks on this blog, I will memorialize an item that is special to me. I will reflect and share about the belonging, and in doing so, also create a kind of archive. So that way, if one day I need or want to let go of even more of my possessions, I can part with the item and still have a way to treasure it.

So with no further ado, the first story I want to share is about Licorice the Lion, a small stuffed animal I received when I was approximately three years old. I have very few mementos of when I was that age. I don't have my toddler blanket, first pair of shoes, first tooth, anything. I don't even have a completed baby book. My mom started one but never finished it. I was the second child and a baby with many health problems at that, so I'm sure mom was just trying to get through each day. The one thing I have from my earliest memories of childhood is Licorice the Lion.

My parents got him for me as a gift when I was having one of my first surgeries. It was a reconstructive hip surgery in Salt Lake City, Utah, of all places. We lived in Washington State, so I don't know why I had to go five states away to have surgery, but such was the case. My dad was in the military, and the way they referred specialty care was, let's just say, unique. I'm sure we traveled to Utah because the best doctor to do the surgery was there. It wasn't for convenience sake, that is for sure. To get to the hospital my mom and I were airlifted in a military transport helicopter. Mom told me I kept dropping my toys on the very grumpy restrained patient in the cot below me. After the surgery, my parents drove me back in their 1970s two-door Toyota Celica that my dad had to remove the back seat from. They were bucket-style seats, and I had to remain flat thanks to my leg-prisons plaster spica cast. Fun times!

And Licorice was by my side through it all.

To be honest, I don't even know how he got the name Licorice because I hate licorice candy. Okay, maybe hate is a strong word. I will occasionally eat a Red-Vine, but any other flavor, particularly black, no way. Perhaps it was my love for alliteration that inspired his name. Was this Little Jody exploring her love of language? I think the honest answer was not nearly as endearing. The real answer was probably fear and distraction. Typically in the hospital, the scene went down like this: a doctor or nurse would come to my bedside to do something inevitably painful to me. A poke, a prod, a lift, a tug, a take this, a do that. They were never purely social visits. And as they approached, one of my parents would pick up the nearest toy or stuffed animal in my bed and start to ask me questions about it to distract me.

"Where is your lion?" "Who gave you your lion?" "What kind of lion is he?" "What is the lion's name?" "How long is his tail?" "Is he a happy lion?" "What is he thinking?" Reflecting on this ridiculously annoying routine, I think my parents did it as much to distract themselves as it was for my benefit. At any rate, I would play along, mostly out of fear. Fear of what was going to be done to me and fear of displeasing my parents. Making stuff up quick was a skill I mastered at a young age. Licorice was probably the first thing that popped in my head when they asked me his name. And Licorice it remained.

Licorice was my loyal companion for every surgery after that until my last back surgery at age 13. After my hips were fixed, then my Scoliosis got worse. As I kept growing, my spine kept curving. I had corrective back surgeries every summer between the ages of five and 13. I was lucky to have all of my back surgeries at Children's Orthopedic Hospital in Seattle. Stuffed lions and tigers and bears (oh my!) were right at home in the Children's Hospital. Of course, Licorice gained friends over the years, but all those others have come and gone.

Licorice is about 8 inches tall and is filled with part fluffy-stuffy and part bean filling. The fluffy-stuffy is what you would expect inside a stuffed animal. The bean bag filling is what you would feel in a hacky sack or a small bean bag. The heavier weight bean filling gives Licorice some substance and personality. Plop him down in different positions, and he takes on a slightly different appearance. As a young child, he was just the perfect size for me, too. Not too big to cuddle within my arms, but not too small to get lost in the shuffle. He was a very appropriate-sized protector.

Today Licorice sits on a shelf in my bedroom next to a small stuffed bear that was Drew's version of Licorice the Lion when he was a boy. Only now, when I am cleaning the bedroom, dusting the shelf, do I pick up Licorice to temporarily move him. Whenever I hold him, though, I am instantly reminded of what it felt like to be Little Jody lying in all those hospital beds. Isn't it funny how inanimate objects can have such influence over our memories? I am sure it is something connected to sentimentality, but with Licorice, it feels like it's a little bit more than that. With my parents now gone, it's like he's the only thing left in my life that lived all those childhood experiences with me. Can things have memories of their own? Probably not. But it sure feels that way sometimes.

I'm so glad I had the inner wisdom to keep Licorice all these years through all the moves I've made in my life. While so many of my other childhood belongings were either lost by chance or parted with on purpose, my little Lion always found his way with me. I might not have chosen Licorice, but I like to believe he chose me. And I'm so thankful for him.