I never considered myself all that sentimental. As I've aged a bit, I've started thinking a lot more about the stories behind the things I've chosen to hang on to. The "Why" behind the stuff.
Something that I've held on to for a really long time is my first Pooh Bear. I got him for Christmas when I was two years old. He lives in my youngest daughter's closet these days, on the top shelf out of reach from wear and tear. When I pulled him down for his little photo shoot today, I immediately hugged him and remembered a flood of our adventures together. I had other toys and things I liked over the years but few, if any, are still with me. Very few ever held a place in my heart like this lil' bear did. He was my very best friend from the moment I laid eyes on him. We played together, I taught him everything I learned at school. I read him stories and he slept with me every almost every single night until I was about twelve. When I was about four or five years old, my dad would play his guitar and sing these songs to me about Winnie getting lost in the woods. I would cry until my dad sang him back to safety. I believed the stories my dad sang. My dad would always have my older brother retrieve Winnie from my bedroom so I could hug him and see he was OK.
Winnie was my friend through rough school days, fair-weather friends, and lots of sad times. He was my friend through happy times, songs, and celebrations. I even bought a little plastic wedding cake and candles set with my allowance once, and I married him. I was, at least, eight years old then. After all these years my Pooh Bear still represents comfort, friendship and the magic of imagination. I'll keep him around in hopes that one day, one of my own kids will appreciate the memories he holds.
I suppose I'm a bit sentimental after all. Love that ol' Pooh Bear.