Jimmy Ryker and the Na-Na

Jimmy and His Best Friend

Jimmy Ryker was two years old, and he was absolutely, positively, one hundred percent sure that he was becoming a very big boy.

He could prove it, too.

He could run. Fast. Stopping, on the other hand, was still a bit of a mystery to him—he usually just ran into the couch, or the dog, or Daddy's legs, and called it good.

He could climb onto the big couch all by himself, using his knee and a grunt and sometimes a little bit of Mommy's help that he pretended he didn't need.

He could feed himself with his very own spoon, even though half the applesauce usually ended up on his cheek, in his hair, or somewhere on the floor that the dog was very happy about.

He could say "No!" with more confidence than anyone else in the entire house, including Daddy, who said "No!" mostly to the dog.

He could pick out his own pajamas every night, and if he wanted to wear the dinosaur ones three nights in a row, that was Jimmy's business and nobody else's.

And he could carry his favorite toys all by himself, tucked under his arm like a very important delivery.

Jimmy was, without a doubt, becoming a very big boy.

But there was one thing, just one, that Jimmy was not ready to give up.

His Na-Na.

Na-Na was Jimmy's name for his pacifier, a small, soft, slightly chewed-up thing that had been with him for as long as he could remember. Which, since Jimmy was two, meant it had been with him for basically his whole entire life.

When Jimmy fell down and scraped his knee, Na-Na made it better.

When he got upset because his tower of blocks tumbled over, Na-Na calmed him right down.

When the lights went out at bedtime and the room got big and dark and a little bit spooky, Na-Na helped him feel safe.

To Mommy and Daddy, it was just a pacifier.

But to Jimmy, Na-Na was his oldest friend.

The Terrible Announcement

One evening after dinner, Mommy and Daddy sat down with Jimmy on the living room rug.

"Jimmy," Mommy said, smiling, "you are becoming such a big boy."

Jimmy nodded proudly. This was true. Everybody knew it.

Then Daddy leaned forward, and his voice got gentle, which Jimmy had learned usually meant something important, and not always something good, was about to happen.

"Big boys," Daddy said slowly, "don't need Na-Nas."

Jimmy froze.

He looked at Daddy. He looked at Mommy. He looked down at Na-Na, which was currently resting safely in his own hand.

This, Jimmy realized immediately, was a serious problem.

Mommy scooted closer and put a hand on his back. "You don't have to be scared, sweet boy," she said softly. "Mommy and Daddy will still be right here, whenever you need us. Every single time."

Jimmy listened. He listened very carefully, in fact, the way he listened when Mommy explained why he couldn't have cookies for breakfast.

But Mommy and Daddy, Jimmy thought, were forgetting something extremely important.

Na-Na needed him, too.

What would happen to Na-Na if Jimmy just up and left it? Who would take care of it at night? Who would keep it safe?

Jimmy's chin went up. His arms crossed. Na-Na was clutched tight in one fist.

"MY NA-NA!" he announced, in the loudest voice he had.

And as far as Jimmy was concerned, that settled it. Conversation over.

Mommy and Daddy looked at each other and did not argue. Instead, Daddy said, "Okay, buddy. But someday soon, it'll be up to you to decide when you're ready to say goodbye."

Jimmy nodded firmly, because he already knew his answer, and his answer was never.

But that night, lying in bed with Na-Na tucked safely in his mouth, Jimmy found himself thinking about it anyway. For the very first time in his short life, Jimmy Ryker was facing a truly difficult decision.

The Problem with Being a Big Boy

Over the next few days, Jimmy began noticing something. Being a big boy came with all sorts of wonderful things.

Daddy let him help carry the empty laundry basket, which Jimmy did very seriously, like it was the most important job in the entire world.

Mommy let him choose his own clothes, and if his shirt was purple and his pants were green and his socks didn't match at all, that was simply Jimmy's style.

He drank his milk from his very own big-boy cup, the blue one with the dinosaur on it, no lid required.

He tried walking down the porch steps without holding anyone's hand, one careful foot at a time.

Every single time, Jimmy felt a warm, proud feeling puff up in his chest.

And every single time, Mommy would smile and say, "Look at my big boy!"

Jimmy loved that feeling. He loved it so much.

But then, right in the middle of feeling proud, Jimmy would remember.

Big boys don't have Na-Nas.

So, Jimmy did what any determined two-year-old would do. He started trying to negotiate.

Maybe, he thought, he could be a big boy during the day, and just a regular little boy at night, when nobody was really looking.

Maybe big boys were allowed to have Na-Nas only on Tuesdays. That seemed fair.

Maybe, and this felt like his best idea yet, nobody actually needed to know.

So, Jimmy started hiding Na-Na behind his back whenever someone walked into the room, popping it out of his mouth so fast his cheeks made a little sound. He tucked it under his pillow during the day like a secret treasure. Once, he even tried stuffing it in his sock, which did not work at all and made walking very uncomfortable.

Jimmy wanted both worlds. He wanted the pride and the freedom of being a big boy. But he also wanted the comfort and the safety of the little boy he had always been.

And Jimmy was starting to learn that wanting two things at once could feel very complicated for someone who was only two years old.

Jimmy's First Attempt

One afternoon, right in the middle of playing with his blocks, Jimmy stood up and made an announcement.

"Jimmy big boy," he said.

And then, before he could change his mind, he pulled Na-Na out of his mouth and held it out to Mommy.

Mommy's eyes got a little shiny, but she didn't make a big fuss. She knew this moment was too important for that. She simply took Na-Na gently, kissed the top of Jimmy's head, and said, "I am so, so proud of you."

Jimmy beamed.

For the rest of the afternoon, he was unstoppable. He built a tower. He chased the dog around the yard. He helped Daddy water the flowers. He didn't think about Na-Na even once.

But then, right before dinner, disaster struck.

Jimmy's block tower, the tallest one he had ever built, wobbled, tipped, and came crashing down in one terrible instant.

Jimmy's face crumpled. His lip began to tremble. And the very first word out of his mouth was:

"NA-NA!"

Mommy knelt down beside him. "Remember, sweet boy? You said you wanted to try being a big boy without it."

Jimmy tried. He really, truly tried. He took a deep breath the way Mommy had shown him. He hugged his stuffed bear extra tight.

But his feelings were simply too big, and Na-Na had always been the thing that made big feelings feel smaller.

Jimmy cried and cried, and finally Mommy went and got Na-Na and gently placed it back in his hands. The moment it touched his lips, Jimmy calmed down almost instantly, like magic.

That night, Daddy sat on the edge of Jimmy's bed.

"Hey, bud," Daddy said. "I want you to know something. Being a big boy doesn't mean you get everything right on the very first try. Sometimes being a big boy just means being brave enough to try again."

Jimmy didn't understand all of Daddy's words. Big boy words were sometimes tricky.

But somehow, he understood the feeling behind them. And he tucked that feeling away, right next to Na-Na, to keep safe for later.

The Last Night with Na-Na

A few nights later, Jimmy lay in his bed, wide awake, holding Na-Na in his small hand.

He thought about all the big-boy things he could do now. The tower he had helped build. The way Mommy said "my big boy" like it was the best thing in the whole world.

He remembered what Daddy had said about trying again.

Slowly, Jimmy pulled Na-Na from his mouth and held it up in front of his face, looking at it in the soft glow of his nightlight.

And then Jimmy did something he had never done before. He started talking to Na-Na, quiet as a whisper, even though Na-Na, being a pacifier, did not say anything back.

"Remember," Jimmy whispered, "when Jimmy fall down? Knee owie. You made it better."

He thought about the loud thunderstorm that had rattled his window, and how Na-Na had helped him feel brave.

He thought about all his naptimes, curled up with Na-Na like a warm little secret.

He thought about the dark room at night, and how scary it used to feel, and how Na-Na had always, always been there.

Na-Na had never once let him down.

Jimmy's eyes filled with tears, but he kept whispering anyway.

"Jimmy big boy now," he finally said, so softly it was almost nothing at all.

But when he looked at Na-Na one more time, he found that he wasn't quite ready. Not tonight.

So, Jimmy popped Na-Na back into his mouth, rolled over, hugged his bear, and closed his eyes.

Something felt different this time, though. As Jimmy drifted off to sleep, one small thought stayed with him.

Tomorrow might be the day.

The Big Decision

The next morning, Jimmy woke up with Na-Na lying right beside him on the pillow.

He didn't put it in his mouth right away. Instead, he just looked at it for a long moment. Then he picked it up and carried it with him to breakfast, holding it in his fist the whole time.

He carried it while he ate his cereal.

He carried it while he played with his blocks.

Mommy and Daddy noticed, but they didn't say a word. They both understood, without needing to talk about it, that this had to be Jimmy's decision, and Jimmy's alone.

Finally, right before lunchtime, Jimmy walked over to where Mommy and Daddy were sitting together on the couch. He stopped in front of them and held Na-Na out with both hands.

"Jimmy big boy," he said.

Mommy knelt down to his level. "Are you sure, sweetheart?"

Jimmy looked down at Na-Na one more time. For just a second, his hand almost pulled back.

Then he took a deep breath, and he let go.

Mommy took Na-Na gently into her hands.

"What should we do to say goodbye?" Daddy asked. "We could put it in a special little box to keep forever. Or maybe we leave it out tonight for the Na-Na Fairy, who takes Na-Nas to babies who need them. Or you could pick a special spot to put it yourself."

Jimmy thought hard about this very important decision. Then he pointed to a small wooden box on the shelf, one Mommy sometimes kept buttons in.

"Na-Na box," Jimmy declared.

So together, they placed Na-Na gently inside the little box, and Jimmy closed the lid himself, pressing down with both hands like he was sealing something very important.

"Goodbye, Na-Na," Jimmy whispered.

Mommy wrapped him in a big hug. Daddy ruffled his hair and told him how proud he was, prouder than he had ever been.

Jimmy felt tall. He felt brave. He felt like the biggest big boy in the whole world.

But there was still one big challenge left.

Bedtime was coming.

The First Night without Na-Na

That night, Jimmy climbed into bed just like always.

Except it didn't feel like always at all.

His mouth felt strangely empty. His room, which had always felt cozy, suddenly seemed a little bit darker. His bed, which had always felt just right, somehow seemed a whole lot bigger.

Jimmy's hand reached automatically toward his pillow, searching for Na-Na the way it always had.

It wasn't there.

Jimmy's eyes filled with tears before he could stop them.

"Want Na-Na," he said, his voice small and wobbly.

Mommy came and sat right down on the edge of his bed. She didn't tell him big boys weren't supposed to cry. She didn't tell him to be tough.

Instead, she said, "Big boys can still feel scared sometimes, Jimmy. Big boys can still cry. Being brave doesn't mean you're never scared. It means doing something hard anyway."

Daddy came in too and sat on the other side of the bed.

And right then, Jimmy realized something he had never quite understood before.

Na-Na had always made him feel safe.

But Na-Na wasn't the only thing that made him feel safe.

Mommy and Daddy did too. They always had.

Jimmy pulled his stuffed bear close and held onto it tight. Mommy kissed his forehead. Daddy squeezed his hand and told him goodnight.

It wasn't easy. Jimmy squirmed. He sniffled. He almost asked for Na-Na two more times.

But slowly, with Mommy humming softly beside him and Daddy's hand warm around his own, Jimmy's eyes began to feel heavy.

And for the very first time in his whole entire life, Jimmy Ryker fell asleep without Na-Na.

A Big Boy Named Jimmy Ryker

Sunlight crept through the curtains and landed right on Jimmy's face.

He blinked awake slowly, and for one sleepy moment, he forgot what had happened the night before.

Then he remembered.

Na-Na was gone.

Jimmy sat very still for a moment, thinking hard.

And then something wonderful occurred to him, something so exciting he could barely believe it.

He had done it.

He had slept the whole entire night, all by himself, without Na-Na.

Jimmy scrambled out of bed and ran as fast as his legs could carry him straight into Mommy and Daddy's room.

"JIMMY BIG BOY!" he shouted, throwing his arms straight up in the air.

Mommy scooped him up and spun him around. Daddy cheered so loudly the dog came running to see what all the excitement was about.

Jimmy felt proud. Prouder than he had ever felt in his whole life.

Later that morning, right in the middle of playing, Jimmy paused and looked up at Mommy.

"Na-Na?" he asked, just a little bit.

Mommy smiled and pulled him into her lap. "It's okay to miss Na-Na, sweet boy. That just means Na-Na was really special."

Jimmy thought about his old friend for a moment. Na-Na had helped him through so much—every scraped knee, every thunderstorm, every scary dark night.

But now Jimmy had discovered something even better than Na-Na.

He had discovered that he could calm himself down. That he could be brave. And that whenever he truly needed help, Mommy and Daddy would always, always be there.

That night, Jimmy climbed into bed once again.

Mommy tucked the blanket around him and asked, "Do you think my big boy can sleep all by himself again tonight?"

Jimmy thought very seriously about the question, the way he thought about all his most important decisions.

Then he smiled.

"Jimmy big boy," he said.

Mommy kissed him goodnight and turned off the light.

Jimmy closed his eyes. For just one second, he thought of Na-Na.

Then he hugged his stuffed bear a little tighter, pulled his blanket up close, and smiled into the dark.

Because Jimmy Ryker had discovered something important about growing up.

Sometimes becoming a big boy doesn't mean you stop loving the things you leave behind.

It simply means you're brave enough to discover that you don't need them anymore.

And for a two-year-old named Jimmy Ryker, that was a very big thing indeed.

THE END