“I’m ugly, aren’t I?” said the bear in the chair.

 It’s always been hard being a Wuzzy. Sure, there’s comfort in knowing you are part of one of the most prestigious families of bears around, and the glamour of a celebrity lifestyle in the toy community. And I admit it’s always been nice to say I have a famous relative...I guess.

Uncle Fuzzy has never been the type to show up to a family gathering. Despite him being the name for our fame, I don’t know the guy at all. I always wondered why. He was in a nursery rhyme for crying out loud, what’s more iconic than that? Our family grew bitter towards him, and the rumors started circling long before I was born. 

“He thinks he’s better than us,” said my mother Fluffy whenever the forbidden name was mentioned.

Much like the rest of my family, I also saw uncle Fuzzy as an asocial snob who wouldn't associate with his own bearkind. But I've also always been curious about him and vowed to meet him one day.

But one October evening, this all changed. Twas the night before my wedding. Snugglebug and I had everything planned out. Our cake was to be of pristine plastic, our guests were all to be seated on the most darling doll chairs, and we rented a musical jewelry box to play tunes for the occasion. But there was still one thing left to do. I had to invite Fuzzy.

I had never seen my uncle, but as my fiancé and I walked the path to his home, childhood fantasies started to invade my thoughts. The stories I had made with my cousins started coming back to me. I imagined a ruffian opening the door. After all, how else would a bear act after years of seclusion?

Snugglebug, however, seemed over the moon. I didn’t have the heart to tell her we were on our way to invite a potential crazy-bear to our special day. “What she doesn't know can’t hurt her,” I thought. 

I paused before the door, shivering as I held the knocker. I hit it against the smooth wood thrice and said a silent prayer. 

Much to my relief, the door was opened by an old sow. She greeted us graciously and led us to the armchair that seated the man of the hour.

When I saw him, I couldn’t help but gasp.

My uncle sat cross-legged in the armchair. He had on a respectable suit and leather shoes, and a spectacle hung loosely from his ears. He looked almost exactly like my dad, the picture of a Wuzzy. That is, except for one small detail: he had no hair.

“The rhyme was right,” Snugglebug mumbled under her breath.

“No need to whisper my girl, I’m aware of the horrendous rhyme,” grumbled Fuzzy.

We soon learned just how terrible the rhyme had been.

My uncle started his tale. He was born a Wuzzy. But instead of being tended to like his brethren, my grandfather had named him an outcast due to his lack of fur. The bear could not stand his child being different, so he shipped him off to an orphanage. There, Fuzzy was mentally abused by the other cubs and was told he was hideous and unwanted. But he never believed them. That is until grandfather created the infamous rhyme that would taunt him forever.

Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear. Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair. Fuzzy Wuzzy wasn’t fuzzy, was he?

For a bear, his fur is his pride. But instead of protecting that, grandfather had sold his son’s greatest insecurity for his own gain. The rhyme was written in books, printed on bonnets, and even sung in songs. My grandfather had made himself a fortune.

As if that wasn’t enough, Fuzzy’s father had disowned him. He was sent to live in an abandoned cottage with only an old maid as company. 

It was in this cottage that he had spent the rest of his days, brooding over the atrocities committed against him. 

“Eventually, I reached my breaking point. I didn’t want to see anyone anymore. I still don’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t come to your wedding,” Fuzzy said with tears in his eyes.

That day, I learned that our perceptions of others are often deeply flawed. I had always thought of my uncle as a terrible bear, despite having no evidence to support this assumption. As I sat there, I wondered what was really so wrong about him. All I saw was someone who was broken by society’s rejection, despite only wanting to be accepted by it.

I am still proud to be a Wuzzy, but now I attribute the name to a different bear. I don’t see a celebrity, but rather an individual who faced great adversity. My wish for my community is that we can learn to look past our differences and really get to know each other as individuals. 

After all, there’s always a story behind the rhyme.