“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.  “Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.  “Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “but when you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.” –from the Velveteen Rabbit

Harvey was a papier mache white rabbit about three feet tall and had a purple ribbon tied around his neck. He sat upright on his haunches with his forepaws extended as if to hold a basket of goodies. He was a bit older than I and appeared at my first Easter at about 10 months old, and was with me for the next nine years.

Father must have found him in an alley or near the warehouse where he worked, and brought him home one day. I think the rabbit’s name came from a Jimmy Stewart movie about an invisible rabbit by the same title. Throughout my early years, dad would be bringing stuff home with him that was either given him by people who were moving and didn’t have room, or he picked it out of the trash they threw out. I think Harvey was a store display that was discarded after the holiday.

Every Easter since I was born, dad would bring Harvey out of the basement and take a picture of me with the rabbit. This was to show how much I had grown because, eventually, I became taller than Harvey. There are photos of me hugging and kissing and laughing with Harvey and, towards the end, my younger sister was included in the annual photo session.

Most of the year Harvey was forgotten, alone in the basement wrapped in plastic but around Easter, for a few days, he sat in the apartment, outdoors and on the back porch and I loved Harvey and once a year would renew our relationship.

When we moved to our new home in 1954, Harvey made the trip with us but he never made the first Easter in the new place. Late in the summer, there were a series of overnight thunderstorms which flooded our unfinished basement with about two feet of water. Many items were still unpacked and in boxes. Harvey had been standing in the corner and as the sewer water rose, the papier mache became unstable and soggy. Harvey was doomed.

I remember dad carrying out box after box of ruined paper and fabric items from the basement and setting them in a pile in the alley behind the house. On top of the boxes lay Harvey. My friend of 9 years was being taken away and I was crying. I thought I noticed tears in Harvey’s eyes also, but it was probably just the rain water. I said good-bye and told him I would miss him. The next day he was gone.

A few years ago I was sitting out in the yard and a rabbit popped out from the bushes along the fence. This is Chicago and you don’t see many garden animals in the city, which surprised me. The rabbit hopped over closer to where I was sitting and sat up, just like Harvey used to do. I thought to myself, “Naw….” Then I remembered the Velveteen Rabbit and realized Harvey had found me and wanted to show me he was okay.

You see, just as the skin-horse said, becoming real doesn’t happen right away, it takes a long time.