The only thing I remember about Christmas morning 1987 was a foot and a half tall Panda bear with a giant red bow tied around his neck. He was fluuuuuffffffffy. His white fur shone like fresh fallen snow and his two eyes seemed to be smiling at me. The red ribbon he wore with pride, its thick satin was nearly as beautiful as he was. There are only a few presents that will ever stand out from your childhood, and he was one that had the “forever” impact on me. I named him Teddy. Yep, Teddy Bear. That was his name, but he never seemed to mind the simplicity in the title I had given him. He went everywhere with me and if I could not find him at night, there was no substitution. Oh sure, I had an array of other cool stuffed animals, but they could not take Teddy’s place. He was the “one”. There was a spot he fit when I snuggled on my side, my arm tight around him, my face buried in the top of his fluffy head. When I said my prayers, he would listen, never interrupting.