Teddy Bear Lovers Anonymous - 1. Chapter 1

A man sits alone on a chair, facing the audience. Behind him, a sign reads “TBLA – Monday Night Meeting.” There may also be posters with twelve-step slogans. He says:

I’m awfully nervous. This is the first time I’ve shared in a meeting. I mean in this program. I’ve shared in my other twelve-step programs, or most of them. Okay, here goes. Hi, I’m Bill and I’m a teddy bear lover.

(Audience response: “Hi, Bill.”)

Well, where to start? I guess with my first teddy bear. I got him for Christmas when I was four years old. I named him Colman because I had just seen Ronald Colman in Lost Horizon, and although I didn’t understand much of the story, I thought he was very dignified and, well, hot. But I didn’t like the name Ronald much because I thought it sounded kind of clownish. And I think that subsequent years have borne out this opinion, with the appearance of Ronald MacDonald and – well, I’d better not get political, and anyway I’m probably offending any Ronalds here. I know someone named Ronald who is one of the most dignified people I know, actually, but I’m getting off the subject.

Things were idyllic at first with Colman, but now I can see that that didn’t last long. We went everywhere together: around the block on my tricycle, down to the playground, to the shopping center with Mom – and he was new in town and clung to me so sweetly, and I was so proud, showing him off to all my friends. I took pride in helping him overcome his shyness, too, helping him develop social skills. It didn’t even occur to me at this point that I was introducing him to all the people I knew, but he wasn’t introducing me to any bears. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I should have known that something was not working out when I tried to snuggle with him and he said he didn’t want to “get physical,” and couldn’t we just be friends? I just assumed that the problem was me, that I was rushing things – I’ve always been like that, always losing my heart instantly to any stuffed toy I see on the shelf. And I thought, “He just needs more time. It won’t be long before he feels about me the way I feel about him.”

But already by New Year’s Eve I could feel him distancing himself. I wanted to spend New Year’s Eve together, just the two of us, but he said, “We spend every evening alone together, listening to your bedtime story. New Year’s should be special. Let’s go out and have some fun.” I wondered if his social skills had developed a little too rapidly.

So we went out to a party. Colman was hardly in the door before he was spending time with everyone but me. I did what I always did at parties – sipped my juice and nibbled my graham cracker and played with the host’s dog. Dogs aren’t likely to reject you, and besides, they have fur. Colman spent a lot of time talking – flirtatiously, I thought – with someone who was six years old. He was a lot more worldly than I was. He had a bicycle, and roller skates, and a lot of other things that I just couldn’t offer.

We had a big fight when we got home, with a lot of accusations and a lot of tears. Colman protested that he hadn’t done anything wrong. I just wanted him to love me. That’s all I wanted, just that he would love me. But the words I heard coming out of my mouth were full of bitterness. I was crazy, out of control. I compared him to Little Jack Horner, so pleased with the plums he was pulling out of his Christmas pie. I compared him to the sparrow who killed Cock Robin. I even referred to the selfish baby bear in the story of Goldilocks. I threw epithets from Mother Goose in his face. He gave me as good as I dished out. He likened me to the witch in Rapunzel, wanting to keep him locked up, and only liking him for his hair. I screamed, if that’s what you really want, your precious freedom, then go! Go! And see if it makes you happy!

In the following weeks, I would sometimes catch a glimpse of Colman on the back of some older boy’s bicycle. I was so hurt that I thought I would never want another teddy bear again. My parents thought I had lost Colman through carelessness. I thought, How little you know, my poor parents; yet, ironically, how close you come to the truth.

My next teddy bear wasn’t as nice-looking. He was older. I got him in a used toy shop. I had heard that the older teddy bears had more character, and I believed that. It was stability I needed at this point in my life: stability, and the knowledge that my feelings were reciprocated. And at that store, Wayne just seemed to pick me right out of the crowd. It was very flattering. Things were very different with Wayne. With Colman I had always been wondering if I measured up, if I was good enough for him, or if he was looking at me with a slightly disdainful button eye. But Wayne and I seemed so happy and comfortable together. I even liked the fact that he was used and worn down to baldness in a few places.

He never stopped saying how much happier he was than with his ex-owner. Never. Gradually, I realized that he never stopped talking about his ex-owner. I thought I should cut him some slack. I knew they had unfinished business together. They had property they needed to sell or divide up: some toy soldiers, a few marbles. And then there were his ex-owner’s relatives, who were very attached to Wayne. But I became uncomfortable with the amount of time Wayne spent on the phone with his ex.

It also became clear that Wayne had a drinking problem. No matter how securely we were tucked in at night, in the morning, often as not, I would find him in the den or the kitchen, stained and unkempt. I tried to talk to him about it, but my words fell on cloth ears. If we were watching television and one of those ads for rehab centers came on, he would just roll off the sofa and lie face down on the rug. When I finally walked out, he didn’t even notice. He had his glass in one paw and the telephone in the other, laughing and reminiscing with his ex-owner about old times.

The next years are kind of a blur. I don’t even remember how many bears I had. I was in a fog of teddy bear need, an addict, grabbing hold of any plush toy that promised comfort for a week, a night, a moment. I lost faith in myself, lost confidence in my ability to hold the interest of a good bear. I hung around cheap toy stores. I was terrified of how I might act around teddies, and for long periods I avoided them, but I craved them, and soon I would fall back into the same situation, time after time.

Of course, there’s lots more to tell, but the important thing is that I found Teddy Bear Lovers Anonymous. It has really changed my life completely. Just knowing that there are others who share my condition, that I’m not alone, is such a relief. I’ve learned that I don’t have to be afraid of losing control. I’ve turned that over to a higher bear. I mean “power.” Oh, God. Old thinking habits, you know. But anyway, I’ve learned that I can be sane, and not worry about getting out of control around bears. I’ve learned that abstinence for me doesn’t have to mean never having another teddy bear; it just means not getting crazy about it. I can wake up in the morning knowing bears don’t have to rule my life. I can look forward to someday having a teddy bear without having to give up my self-respect.

I know my recovery hangs by a slender thread, but I’m also able to accept recovery one day at a time as being good enough. Thank you.