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My blanket was quilted and many times my size. It was stuffed with cotton and dyed with pictures of cats and dogs. It was my first birthday present, and it never left my side. I named my blanket Tucky. To this day, I dont know what the word meant to me.
Maybe I called it Tucky because I tucked two fingers on my left hand in my mouth whenever I held it. Or maybe I was thinking of how good it felt when my mother tucked me in at night and my blanket covered and protected me. As long as it was near me, I was invincible. As I grew up, my blanket grew older.
With every squeeze it lost stuffing. With every tug another hole appeared. By the time I was seven, Tucky was nothing more than a soft, worn rag, and I loved it. Around that time, I knew I couldnt keep my blanket much longer.
My mother was already forcing my fingers from my mouth and Tucky's softness from my hands. I had to find new sources of security and protection, some of them in myself. But I missed my blanket on those nights when the thunder seemed overwhelming or when I needed a friend. Even though Ive outgrown my security blanket, I havent forgotten it. I still know its exact location, at the back of my clothes drawer on the left side.
Sometimes I want to take it out and brush it up against my cheek. (I tried recently to stuff my fingers in my mouth, but they just wont nestle as nicely as they used to) But most of the time, just the thought of Tucky can ease the stress of an exam or calm my nerves before I sing. It will always be there in its ragged greatness, ready to give me comfort when Im troubled or have lost my confidence. It feels strange to reveal these things, since the world regards me as an adult. I know we cant go about our daily lives dragging worn blankets behind us or sucking on our fingers to make ourselves feel better. But if I could, I would give everyone a scrap of Tucky just for a shred of hope or a slice of confidence. A security blanket, or even a security shred, can turn a bad day around or make a good one better.
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