This is Sally Jones. He’s the best teddy in the world.
He used to be beautiful, with proper glass eyes and honey-coloured fur. I dropped him a few times and his eyes broke, and I kissed and hugged him so much that his fur is all worn away.
He’s had a few torn areas over the years and lost a lot of his sawdust filling. I tried to repair him with lumps of cotton wool, but I wasn’t very good at sewing.
Then he had an unfortunate meeting under the bed with my rabbit, Snowdrop, who decided that Sally was delicious before I leapt in to rescue him.
When I was training as a teacher, we had a day when everyone brought in their teddy bears, so I took Sally in to show the class.
“Look!” I said, proudly. “This is my teddy!”
There was a stunned silence as twenty-seven children stared in horror, and then one boy put up his hand.
“Er… Miss…” he said, “I think he’s dead.”
I snatched Sally into my arms and said indignantly, “My teddy’s not dead! He’s beautiful!”
My teddy may not look beautiful to other people, but he does to me. I love him just the way he is. Sure, he’s a bit old and battered now, but then – let’s face it – so am I.
Let’s not be in too much of a hurry to judge others on how they look. We all lose our youth and beauty eventually, but what really matters is whether we are loved.