What was your teddy bear's name when you were a kid?

I gave my daughter a teddy bear a few months back and decided recently that it must have a name.

Flipping open a baby name book, I decided to let the spirit move me and pick something different. Something that the bear would speak to me through and decide his/her sex.

The name I instantly channeled was: Humphrey.

Which my two year old pronounces “Humpy”.

The name stuck, as you can imagine.

My childhood teddy bear was blue, with a music box in it, and I named him one day,* Blue Boy.* Only to be informed by a howling-and-crying-tears-down-their-cheeks table full of off duty cops that that is a term used in the NYPD meaning Gay Cop.

Share time.

Mine was Big T. He’s about 2 1/2 feet tall and my grandfather got him for my mom when she was a baby. She called him Big Teddy, but shortened him for me. I still have him, I’m trying to figure out a way to restore him. He’s got some stuffing leaks and my ex-rommate’s odious cat peed on him.

“Uncle Titaw”

I have no idea where I got that name, but it was a yellow bear with a plaid body. We (Dad and I - I was two at the time) found him at the fairgrounds on the last day when all the shows and games were packing up. Evidently he had fallen off the joinie truck and looked so lonesome in the middle of the half-empty midway. Dad dusted him off and I had him for several years until I lost him in a fire.

Little bastard across the street tied an M-80 to him.

I got a lil red bear with purple ears. I named him Red Bum. :slight_smile: I still have him too. He’s what I cuddle with when I’m sick.

I don’t remember, but I do remember throwing up on it and Mom puttin it in the washer. He was never the same after that. He started out orange and white and afterward was peach and cream and smelled somewhat…off.

I don’t know where you live, but there are businesses that specializing in bringing a beloved doll or toy up to snuff.
It really depends on how much it is worth it to you monetarially as well as sentimentality wise. Check the yellow pages under Toys.

Sometimes just a wash-rinse & tumble in the Whirlpool of life can restore a stuffed animal without any damage, that is, after you repair the stuffing leaks. I’ve washed my kids bears in the washing machine a few times and everything in their universe is aok.

Mine was named Teddy Bear. Good thing I grew an imagination at some point, eh?

He was, believe it or not, STOLEN from me my Junior year in college. How low is that?

My favorite teddy bear’s name is Teddy. Evidently, I wasn’t all that creative with names at the age of three. Teddy’s constant companion was Blankie the Yellow Blanket. :slight_smile:

Snuggles. For two reasons: A) I loved the Snuggle bear. (You know, the fabric softener. Loved the commercials.) 2) It looks just like the Snuggle bear.

It plays music. I still have it. It’s creeping up on 2 decades old. Which means, so am I. Sweet Christ, I’m OLD! :eek: Wow, time sure does fly when you’re sitting on your ass. :smiley:

Teesha. I no longer remember why.

Sigh. So much for the magical imagination of children.

Still have him; a smallish, classic black & white bear. I always had to drag him along on vacations, so my parents claimed he was the most travelled bear around. It got to be a family joke, so into adulthood I’d pack him in my suitcase to maintain his status.

Actually popping him outta the suitcase helped make hotel rooms seem more homey.


Hrm. Let me be the first to confess that, at least as far back as I can remember, I had no teddy bear. Or any other stuffed animal of note, for that matter.

Does that make me deprived?

“Mike the Tiger”

He’s named after the Louisiana State University mascot. I was never a big fan, but I used to go visit his cage every other weekend or so when I was in Baton Rouge.
I remember lying awake at night and imagining how Mike would come to life and grow to the size of a real tiger. He would prowl around my room and protect me from monsters and burglars. Ahh…Those were the days. All the security, love, and snuggling you could ever want was easily obtained from a one foot tall stuffed toy.

Walnut. I got him when I was about 8, maybe a little younger. I still have him, and he is still in great condition.

Mine was named “Teddy” too. Or I should say, is named Teddy, because he’s still with me. Yes, Teddy made the journey from his humble beginnings in a large cardboard box to the Big City, where he now resides, comfortably seated on a cheap Ikea dresser.

He is brown and… lighter brown… or maybe that’s dirt… and he is seriously lacking in stuffing. I think he’s lost bone mass as he’s aged. We found his exact twin once in a thrift shop, but I didn’t buy it-- seemed wrong to have a fully stuffed, “new” Teddy!

My first was named Tessie Bear. She had a green plaid cloth body, white plush head, arms, and legs, and a green plaid skirt with a lace apron. Her nose was very pointy and I don’t even remember her when she wasn’t all ratty-looking. She’s still at my mom’s house - I’d be jealous if my kids tried to play with her.

Little Bear, named after the “Little Bear” books series.
He is a little black and white panda bear, and yes, I still have him. Damn thing’s nearly an antique!

I have a stuffed dog that I named Billy. Then, when LBJ’s pal Billy Sol Estes got into trouble I extended my dog’s name.

I spent too much time watching the news for a little kid.

Yes, I still have him. Want to make something of it?

Wife has patched him and given him new eyes.

Paddington Bear. I called him Punha.

Now, I hope, nobody will ever ask me where I get my SN from. Ever.

I have two Paddington Bears now. Old and new. I prefer old, honestly.

I had some bears when I was a kid, but I just don’t recall their names.

However, I do have this small pillow that a family friend made for me. It’s a cat face. The face is green (yes, it’s supposed to be), the ears are pink, and the back is orange. His name is Kitty. I got him when I was six years old. I’m 33 now. I still sleep with him.

Kitty is a he. If you saw him, you’d understand. He just doesn’t look like a girl. And I sleep on him. But not with on his face. If I sleep on his face, he won’t be able to breathe.

(I know. “But how can he breathe with his face in the pillow?” Say it all you want, but you will never defeat the logic of a six year old.)

Nine years ago, I got a divorce and moved to Wisconsin, with an abusive alcoholic. Kitty of course moved with me. When I fled that relationship, in my haste I left Kitty behind, and I didn’t realize it until I was already on the bus home. My mom met me at the bus station when I got back, and the first thing I said to her when I got off the bus was “Mom, I’ve got to get to a phone. I left Kitty.” My mom cried with me.

Once I got to a phone, I called the landlady of the place I had been staying. I explained to her, hey, I left this mangy looking pillow shaped like a cat. Could you go get it for me, before that f***head destroys it? She was a little puzzled, but one I said “I’ve had him since I was six…” she just said “Say no more. He’ll be in the mail tomorrow, and the postage is on me.” Kitty and I were reunited four days later.

No one knows more about me than Kitty. He knows all of my secrets, he’s shared my joys and my sorrows. Throughout my life, he has always been there, quietly comforting me when I need him. I’ve gotten the occasional ribbing about him, but by and large, most folks understand…
…everyone just needs a lovey now and then.