When I was little I had a musical, stuffed yellow bunny, with kind brown plastic eyes. He came with a white, crisp ribbon bow, and played music, that I would wind up furiously every night at bedtime. I got him the first Easter with my Bio-Father and Step-Mother. I loved that bunny. I gave up sucking my thumb for this bunny, and he went everywhere with me. I called him Mr. Bunny and he was excellent conversation for a little girls tea party.
Until one day someone thought it would be a wonderfully, wicked and cruel lesson and this person cut off my bunny’s head. Their reasoning was because at 12 year old a little girl shouldn’t have a favorite stuffed animal to sleep with.
In defiance, I sewed his head back on and kept him hidden until bedtime, I didn’t dare wind him up to hear his soothing song, instead I slept with him in the pillowcase, on the underside of the pillow.
I learned it was my Half-Aunt who did this, I never have understood her to this day, she was cruel and then she could be so kind, like the little girl with the curl in the nursery rhyme.
I don’t know whatever happened to Mr. Bunny throughout my chaotic childhood and teen years, but I know this, Mr. Bunny you were the best and at 40 years old, I still miss and long for you.
I never understood cruelty when I was a child and as an adult it’s understanding is still a miss.
Day 1 of 500 Personal Prompts for Blogging.