Tom and Pippo is a series of books by Helen Oxenbury. Gentle, sweet but very boy-like. Tom is the lad in the stories and Pippo is his plush monkey. Tom and Pippo go for a walk, hang out on the beach, make a mess, and do all of the things little boys and their first friends are wont to do.
When we first saw Pippo, he was part of a display, and the saleslady said we would have to order him through the store from someplace in England. Which we did. And gave to our son for Christmas(?) or his birthday(?) -- I can't remember which. But the connection was immediate.
Pippo went everywhere with us. There were a few close calls. The time he was rescued after falling at the science museum. In Columbus, when he was left behind at my sister's house -- fortunately, she drove like the wind and caught up with us at the library before we left town.
One of my favorite stories is when my son was still young enough to take an afternoon nap -- which he always needed but still loathed. We listened at the foot of the stairway as he talked to his friend: "Daddy and Mommy are mean, Pippo. You're the only one who loves me."
Originally, Pippo had velcro on his hands, presumably so he could hug better. But the velcro wore off, and his hands became tattered, requiring me to add "gloves" to cover the worn spots. Aside from that (and countless washings), Pippo has earned the love-worn work he sports today.
Along with a menagerie of other plush pals, Pippo slept with our son every night for many years. But Pippo was always #1 in the hierarchy. When the sad day came and Pippo was no longer required at bedtime, he moved to the top of our dresser where he resides to this day.
I find myself saying good morning or goodnight to him. And telling him we love him.
And yes, I believe. That a stuffed monkey can have a soul. Just a little one. To give a small boy such comfort and joy.
And his parents, too.
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