Blankets and happy endings

By Ellen

One of my favorite memories of my son's childhood has to do with a blanket called Polka-dot. It came to us very simply: my mother hemmed several lengths of soft cotton flannel into receiving blankets for him and, as many babies do, he settled on one particular blanket to be his special source of comfort. It was white with brightly colored polka-dots, and it became his constant companion. Its appearance even became its name, as in "Where is Polka-dot?"

Every trip in the car featured Polka-dot as a passenger; every new experience was better if Polka-dot was there. But since Jonathan slept with Polka-dot tightly clutched in his arms, removing it for repairs or washing was problematic. I was prepared for many challenges of toddlerhood, but I had never before dealt with the heartrending sobs of a little boy waiting for his grimy blanket to be washed. "Polkaaaaaaaa-dotttttttttt," he would wail in agony, stretching himself around the machine as if he could suck the blanket into his arms from its watery prison.

Sometimes I worried that my son was a little too attached to Polka-dot. Then one summer day, as I was driving Jonathan and his best friend Michael to camp, I overheard them talking in the backseat. "Did you bring Boo?" "Yeah, it’s right here inside my pillowcase. You bring Polka-dot?" "Yeah." They sounded perfectly matter-of-fact about it all. And I stopped worrying, figuring there was safety in numbers.

The most amazing adventure of all, though, was when we accidentally left Polka-dot behind in a hotel room. My son was distraught but brave, his father and I were frantic.  The hotel promised to send Polka-dot along if it turned up, and -- figuring this would be a miracle ranking up there with the exploits of the tooth fairy and the Easter bunny -- we sadly returned home without our blanket buddy.

A week later, I went out on the front porch to retrieve the mail and there was a padded envelope from the hotel. I couldn't believe my eyes. Polka-dot had returned! But jubilation became despair once again when I looked at the envelope, which had been torn in half. Inside, there was nothing. No blanket. Nada.

I couldn't believe it. Polka-dot came so close to being home again! It was too tragic for words. Who would have opened the envelope? Did it get damaged in the mail?

And then, out in the street, alongside the curb, passed by car after car, I spotted a square of white cloth. Could it possibly be?! I sprinted toward the object, grabbed it literally out from under the tire of a passing car and clutched it to my bosom. Polka-dot had come home! And after a wash and dry, it was good as new.

The look on my son's face when I handed him Polka-dot was priceless. He grabbed it, rubbed his eyes and cheeks on it and positively quivered with delight. Then he looked up and said, very matter-of-factly, "Don't cry, Mommy. I always knew Polka-dot would come back." Even better than finding Polka-dot again, though, were the two lessons we both learned: that it's ok to need something like a blanket in your life, and that happy endings don't just happen in storybooks.

Ellen is a 50-year-old mother of two (ages 18 and 22) and stepmother of two (18 and 13 1/2). She lives in North Carolina with her husband of two years.

Comments

[tami]

I think the urge to love a blanket might be an inherited trait! My husband and I both have our childhood blankies and have a spot in the closet reserved for them. My daughter has not one but two blankets that have been with her every night for most of her 2 1/2 years. When she was tiny, we used both "Yellow" and "Other" (Her designations as soon as she could talk!) to swaddle her. She doesn't take them with her everywhere every day, but often she'll declare "It's Yellow's turn to go with me." OR "I need two special blankies today." There's a wonderful chldren's book called Franklin's Blanket that captures the spirit of a special blanket. Your son might enjoy receiving it as a remember-when gift!

[Peyton]

Losing something like Polka-Dot is heartwrenching. I had "Pidow", which was a small feather pillow that had been my fathers and then mine as a child. I slept with Pidow every night of my life, no matter where I went. When I was sad, or lonely, Pidow was my companion. I, too, left Pidow in a hotel room - when I was 16! Unfortunately, the hotel staff never found Pidow. I couldn't sleep right for quite some time, and I still miss Pidow.

[jlybn]

That was a great story! I too was a blanket carrier, when I was a kid. I wasn't to the point that my blankie had to go everywhere with us, but I did HAVE to sleep with it every single night. My brother's and sister's used to crack up at me because even as a teen, that blanket was still a part of my life. I still have my white, blue and pink blanket (at 33), it no longer goes to bed with me, but it does reside in my hall closet and will for as long as I live. I still somehow find comfort in it just "being there".

[Nicola]

What ever happened to Polka-Dot? My son has Roger, a stuffed dog and the love of his life, who has been his constant companion since he was 4 months old. What differentiated Roger (now "Roh Roh") from the hordes of other stuffed toys in Kellan's collection, we will never know, but at 16 months old, he is a proper member of our family.