There's an elephant in my family. Not a real one of course, though neither is he pure
fantasy. He has been with us for
almost forty years, first appearing when my daughter Abby was three or
four. I had gone into her room to
awaken her, and—tired of her imaginary friends, Blink and Blank, who she
insisted were real—I was on all fours as a diversion from them, trumpeting like
an elephant and swaying my head.
Abby immediately joined the make-believe.
She named her new friend "Mogie," because that's
what his call sounded like. They were soon roaming around the house, she
leading Mogie with her arm around his head, identifying all the rooms and
furnishings to him and making a home for them under the dining table. As Abby became firm friends with Mogie,
he and Daddy became ever more distinct in her mind—one or the other might be
present, but never both simultaneously.
Blink and Blank were never heard from again.
Originally Mogie could say just one word, "Mogie"—yet
by modulating its intonation and tempo, he could make his feelings known. Abby soon taught him a small English
vocabulary, which he learned to pronounce within the constraints of his vocal
mechanism. His syntax was never
very good, but he and Abby were able to talk in a sort of pidgin. He would say, "Mogie no like Abby
go school leave Mogie 'lone," to which Abby would reply, "Abby have
go school, bring Mogie-food for Mogie when come back."
Mogie was an especially valuable friend when Abby's brother
David, six years older than she, teased her. She would scream "MOGIE!" and Mogie would charge
into the room, roaring his own name, knocking David over and trampling
him. The first time this happened,
David was shocked; still, he was smart enough to adopt his own alter ego, a
little dog Jerry who snapped at Mogie's legs. The teasing was soon forgotten amid the general uproar of
Mogie and Jerry battling while Abby tried to separate them.
Abby's Mommy also had to contend with Mogie. If she was being cross with Abby, he
would charge at her, pushing her into a corner with his head. She sometimes had to pour water over
him or slap him with a dish towel to defend herself, reducing Abby to tears. Mommy would say that Mogie would be put
out of the house if he didn't behave himself, and Abby would plead with Mogie
to calm down. It isn't easy to
pacify a stampeding elephant.
Mogie was soon traveling with the
family on vacations. Now it was
Daddy's turn to complain: he was infuriated at having to buy two adjoining
airplane seats for Mogie so that he could fly comfortably, and to rent station
wagons with enough room for him in the back. On some trips there were occasions when Mogie got separated
from the family. Once, in Italy,
because he had binged on pasta, he got stuck between the walls of a narrow lane
on Capri; his plight went unnoticed by the family in their concern for Abby,
who had fallen ill. When Mogie
finally found his way back the next day to their hotel on the mainland, he was
furious with Abby, who had by then recovered: "Mogie stuck 'tween walls
Capri, shout 'HELP!!' Abby no
come. Stuck six hours. Firemen need crowbars pry Mogie
out. Miss last boat, sleep on
wharf. Abby no love Mogie no more,
leave him Capri." Abby rubbed
his chafed sides, cooed to him, and shared some of the food that Mommy had
ordered from room service.
Although Mogie started out to be just a
way for Abby and Daddy to have fun, he later became an extra way for them to
relate to each other. When Daddy
was grumpy or preoccupied or inattentive—which Abby thought was excessively
often—she could unfailingly get his attention and affection by yodeling,
"Mogie, Mogie, Mo-oh-gie, Mo-oh-oh-oh-gie," until Mogie had to
respond, and soon they were giggling and cavorting. And when Abby was blue or sulky, or when Daddy felt he
needed a few big hugs and couldn't rouse Abby to give them, all he needed to do
was drop to his hands and knees, wag his head from side to side, and mewl "Mo-oh-gie?"
in the softest voice. Abby would
rush to him, hug him, and say, "Oh, what a good elephant!"
As Abby approached her teens, Mogie
started saying that he was really a little girl's companion and, as Abby was no
longer a child, Mogie would have to leave. Abby couldn't stand hearing this. Not only would Mogie leave, but Daddy would become just
plain, unmagical Daddy. She would
get panicky (no make-believe here!) and beg both Daddy and Mogie not to let
this happen. Daddy realized that
he too would miss Mogie if he were to leave; Mogie's moments with Abby were
really special. Daddy and Mogie
decided, as one of Abby's presents for her thirteenth birthday, to give her
Mogie forever. They felt that they
were giving themselves a gift too, one that all three of them would enjoy for a
long time.
I eventually wrote a book about Mogie's
adventures with the family. It was
illustrated by the very talented Bryan Johnson-French—actor, musician, and
artist in many media, whose latest artistry is masquerading. His tesselated illustration for the
cover of the book tells the whole story:
Mogie is still part of the family,
graying along with me. My
grand-daughters were raised in his presence: when they were younger they
frolicked with him as Abby had. He
is not as spry as he was forty years ago, and his bellowing sounds a bit
irritable. Aged or not though, he
has been a wonderful family member to have had all this time!