Ellie and Me

When I was 5 years old my dad was stationed in Africa and when he returned from his tour of duty he came home with a present for my sister, brother and myself. Three handcarved elephants. The only problem was that mine was tiny and Cindy’s and Paul’s were big. My hands went immediately to my hips as I demanded to know why my elephant was so tiny compared to the other two. My dad looked at me and said, “You’re the baby of the family.” All I could do was watch as that term slid down my boiling hot mind like thick slimy okra and it puddled in my head. Yes, there were advantages to being the baby of the family but for some reason all families deem it necessary to remind the youngest constantly of his or her birth, order, defect. With my wounded heart in my hand; I starred at this pithy runt that slanderously had my name printed on its underside. The creature was handed limp and rejected back to my dad as stormed out of the room facing what I clearly already knew to be true at the time; I was less loved and less equal to him than my bigger siblings.

Year after year that elephant had the nerve to stare down at me from inside my mom’s china cabinet while I was eating. Its puny body laboring under loose anorexic wood skin had me dreaming of sneaking into the dining room late one night and casting it into the trash where all the other less loved things belonged.  It was spared only by my voiced complaints made loud and too often while sitting at the table under its wooden stare. There was no doubt that I would be the only one hauled in for lineup for such a heist as no one in the house loathed that animal as much as me. The other two giant mammoths with their bloated well-fed tummies so fat and so loved didn’t even bother looking down at my runt replica. Perfectly capturing my feelings at the time as the one who couldn’t stay up as late as the others, couldn’t have as much cake as the others, couldn’t watch certain movies like the others could, couldn’t talk on the phone, couldn’t walk to the store alone and the list of couldn’t-s piled up so wobbly high that I was sure I would die before making it into CAN-land.


When we grew up and moved out of the house my mom gave each of us our elephant. When the time came for me to leave I refused to take mine. Even as an adult that tiny runt crawled underneath my skin as a reminder of my repression and first brush with discrimination over something I could no more help than I could move the sun, my birth order!

Fast forward a few years and four children later, except for the oldest; my children at one time or another were imprisoned in Couldn’t-land far removed from their older sibling(s) privileged spot and I was growing a greater understanding of family dynamics . One day when I was visiting mom’s, I opened the china cabinet door, and, for the second time in my life; I picked up Ellie, a name she was bestowed with later. Turning her over and looking at my name, I thought about how much protection goes into taking care of the baby of the family (and how we tend to belong to our siblings in a very different way in childhood). The many times my sister or brother sat next to me when I was afraid during a thunderstorm, brought me candy from a birthday party I was too little to go to or comforted me when the adults in the house weren’t acting like adults came to the forefront of my heart. This began the shift in me about what Ellie represented. Ellie went home with me that day and now sits on a shelf that overlooks my dining room table. She has finally gained her rightful place in my life and we are both happier. Occasionally, I glance up to see her staring at me. Gone are those old childhood memories filled with hurt that she was so little, and in their place, a knowing smile. I'm still watched over.

Elephants have been showing up in my life ever since. Like the time I was cleaning out a dear friend’s home after she died. It was one of those hard days when grief had its cold hands around my throat so tight my heart couldn't breathe. I bumped into a wall unit and a tiny ivory elephant that I had never seen before fell into my hands (she's next to Ellie on the shelf now but she is not the only story about this beautiful animal unexpectedly showing up when I needed to be reminded that I'll be okay). The elephant is my totem animal so clearly understood by Native Americans. It represents my personal and spiritual identity and I continue to study its  meaning to better understand myself. Ellie is my constant reminder that there will never come a time when I am afraid, hurting, lonely or lost that I will not have a loving spirit gathering circumstances around me for my guidance, care and protection.

Mona McPherson