It was a relaxing day, the sun was out, and like any other day, I used my time as a wise person would, in the most interesting way, by bugging my younger brother.

I must have been four at the time and my brother was only a small number of weeks old, still too young to have hair upon his head. He had the attention span of a flea most of the time, but today his widened to the attention span of a poodle. As I always loved to do, I lay in his crib with him trying to become loving siblings, but somehow it always ended up with him disliking me.

Today, I carried with me one of the most prized possessions I had ever known existed; my bear, with the completely original name of “Bearie the Bear.” He was a small bear, only about a foot or so long and covered in a white, plush material with two big brown eyes staring into my mine. His face consisted of an unceasing smile and a brown mussel.

I took my usual walk down the hallway from my room to his, with the sunlight illuminating me as I strolled. I walked into his pastel baby room, starring at his wooden crib in the far left corner. Soon enough my mom followed me in, to make sure I didn’t harass my baby brother. With her, she brought an intricate, jet-black camera, which she recorded most of our childhood upon.

I walked over 
to his crib, and my mom grabbed me
 by the armpits, lifting me onto his 
tiny bed. As soon as my junior foot
 touched the soft sheets he lay upon,
 Morgan awoke from his slumber.

I
 could immediately see his tiny eyes
 drift toward the direction of my bear. They were dead set on 
him, not looking anywhere else.
 I could not bear to see the enthused 
yet mischievous look on his face, but
 I snuck a glare. To my misfortune, I
 could see a twinkle in his eyes that I 
had never seen before. None of this mattered though because there was no way that he was pilfering my bear.

He tried to grab it from my hands multiple times but failing every single one of them. I had a great advantage being the taller one, for once in my life. My mom saw him struggling and scolded me for “unnecessary taunting”, whatever that meant.

As my punishment, my mom stole my prized possession and gifted it to my younger brother.  Still, to this day, I think about how somewhere deep inside his closet, is my bear.