So, while Hurricane Beryle was barreling down on me (yes, she was a hurricane. I mean, what is 4mph difference????) I was stuck here for quite sometime. Four days. You saw the previous post, I’m sure. But, I was working up this bear while I was whiling away the Memorial Day weekend sucked into watching “Band of Brothers.” Can I safely tell you, between you and me alone, that I actually cried probably every episode.
I come from a long line of military. My grandfather, my uncle, my aunt, a few cousins, and BOTH my parents were veterans. And though Memorial Day was intended to celebrated those who paid a sacrifice none of us could even fathom for our country, I often think of those left behind. For myself, for instance, I often thought of a little kid whose father was always gone, always detached, because a phone call would come in the middle of the evening and he’d be off to attend to some skirmish somewhere in the world. He was abreast of the latest topics internationally, knew precisely who was doing what maneuver somewhere out there in the world, and yet, when he returned home after a month or two (or once, even an entire year) he knew nothing about his wife, his son, nor the place he had left behind.
There was no dad around for father-son occasions. No dad around for life bending questions as you pubescence into life. For every warrior soldier out there who sacrifices so much for the sake of freedom, there are different warriors left behind who sacrifice in their own way. As my entire family was held with loyalty to the armed services, there was a little kid left behind who selfishly didn’t understand why there was no one there. And he had to learn to sacrifice, too. He had to learn that life would be different for military kids, they always are. So, he had to become a warrior in his own right, fighting against the desire for normalcy and baseball games where no one is there to cheer him on.
Its wild the things I think about while I work up these bears. Especially this one. I saw myself grabbing the olive green, the hinted brown, the mock sweater to say he proclaimed as I worked up his face, “I know, man….I know.”
This is my warrior bear. A warrior to those kids out there whose dads are far off finding the fight for freedom liberating….the kid left behind who sometimes isn’t reminded that he has had to sacrifice a relationship with his father so that the free world may remain so.”Why can’t dad come home?”
One soldier clings to his gun and his honor, and meanwhile, a child left behind clings to a bear and his hope for a normal life.
He’s a little larger than my normal bear. 15 inches tall when sitting and made of organic wool and embroidered eyes.
I’m not putting him in my shop. I’m selling him here on my blog. I’m selling just one. This one. And there won’t be another. For, this inspiration may not happen again. You deal with memory, you deal with history, you bow your head, you work through it…and you move on
You can buy the little guy HERE.