The Demise of Passy May Coffey

There is nothing like a two year old to make you laugh. The little red-headed one that has been at our house for the past week has made us all giggle. She has an impish way of looking at you and lisping comments that keep you smiling. Everyone from the 12 year old cousin to her uncle and aunt have fallen under her spell.

One of the most endearing things has been her pacifier. Like most little ones, she has a favorite pacifier. However, unlike most little ones this one has a full name. She will proudly tell you her passy's name is Passy May Coffey. No one knows why, but this passy is part invisible friend and part family member. The house has rung with calls of "Passy May" as she has searched for her "friend".

This afternoon as the two little girls were playing upstairs, I was summoned with desolate cries of "Passy May, Passy May, Passy May". I ran to see what the crisis was. I found the little one
pitifully crying at the top of the stairs. The older sister had thrown Passy May down the stairs.I retrieved it and peace was restored. She is amazingly even tempered and didn't hold a grudge once the passy was restored.

So tonight when bathtime was over and bedtime snacks were finished, Mom started gathering up things preparing for the bedtime rituals. The hunt for Passy May was begun. The little one has a way of just laying the passy down, so it usually takes a few minutes to locate it. After a few minutes Mom signaled me from the dining room door. She silently held out her hand. Nestled in her palm were the remains of Passy May. She had located the pink back and the little white ring, but the dog had eaten everything else. With a stricken look she mouthed "what do we do?" We debated just telling her we couldn't find it but opted out for honesty. (especially since the older one came upon us and spied the remains)

So Mom called the little one over and showed her what was left of Passy May. She looked at the pitiful pieces and called in a mournful tone,"Passy May, Passy May". Calmly, Mom explained that the dog had chewed it up and now we had to throw it away. We waited with baited breath to see what would happen. Visions of crying babies and sleepless nights stretched out before us. Tears gathered in my eyes as I felt for her loss. With total aplomb, she waved and called "good-by Passy May" picked up the pieces and put them in the garbage.

We read stories and settled the girls for bed with wonder. However, as the lights went out this little voice quavered out. "Old Joe, Old Joe" She was calling for the back-up passy that is now known as Old Joe. After a few poignant cries, Mom caved and produced the back-up. With a contented slurp peace settled over the room.

Good-by Passy May. Welcome Old Joe.