On a chair in my grandparent's house, lies an old faded tiger, with a green jumper and a scarf. Its stripes are barely discernable, and its fur is ragged and threadbare. It has had new feet sown on by my grandmother, and one of its eyes has fallen out. It is worth next to nothing in money, but the play, and generations, that this old toy has seen, have huge personal worth.
My dad has had since he was about three, and I can imagine him, sitting there playing with it, making it roar, and playing in much the same way, that my 2 and ÃÂ½ year old sister plays with her tiger now. In it's one eye I can see, my father as a small child, and this soft, floppy, woollen toy as a brand new stripy tiger. I can also however see me in that toy, doing the same things, running round the house shouting, "roar" and my brother doing the same, and just recently, my sister discovered 'Tiggy - wiggles', as my father originally named him.
She could barely see that he was a tiger, but soon enough she was doing the same.
It is about 40 years old, and was originally a gift from my great-uncle Ken. All of the family has known Tiggy - wiggles, and in varying degrees, loved him. My granny has added, his jumper, his scarf, his new feet, his new tail, and one new ear. By this you can see all of the play, and fun that this toy has had. He hasn't sat on a shelf, he has been a vicious man eating monster, a friendly animal, and many other things in his life, and that is why he is such a fantastic toy, because...