“His name is Fuzzy. His nickname is Furry.”
The Boy clutches the purple stuffed animal to his chest. It’s his first night with the bunny, and now Fuzzy is allowed to occupy one of two coveted spots in the Boy’s bed. Fuzzy had just been purchased that morning from a local thrift store, and after having been thoroughly run through the washer and dryer and given a name, is now ready for his new home.
“Please, Mama. He’s only 50 cents. I’ll pay for him with my own money,” the Boy had pleaded with me earlier in the day.
“It’s not the money, sweetie. I just don’t understand why you want a stuffed bunny.”
“Because he’s so soft and cute. And I don’t have a bunny. I just want a bunny.”
And that’s when it hit me: Sometimes the rough-and-tumble, mudpie-slinging, dirtbike-skidding, Lego- and Hero Factory-loving boy just needs a fuzzy (furry) friend. He loves his bunny, and you gotta love a kid who understands his softer side.