Man's best friend

Those who think that a dog offers the ultimate in companionship have never met my son's imaginary friend, Tooby. Allow me to introduce you.

Tooby is a reformed hitter who just one short year ago was not apt to heed his parents' instruction. Upon first introduction, I feared that my son had fallen in with a bad crowd at the ripe old age of 2 1/2, as we only heard about Tooby when we were correcting one of our kids or sharing a "learn from my mistakes" story. Just like my husband, for example, Tooby once failed to heed his mother's warning not to stand up in his chair at the table and took a nasty tumble as a result of his disobedience.

Over the course of the past year, Tooby has celebrated birthdays ranging from his 10th to his "90-12th", though he has seemingly settled into being 19 "like Austin", my oldest nephew.

Tooby is a vagrant, having lived in houses mere blocks from our own all the way to an impressively large stucco number at the corner of 16th Street and Muhammad Ali Boulevard.

Tooby is an animal lover, having assembled a menagerie in one of those above-referenced backyards that included a hippopotamus named Sarah Bates. I appreciate the shout out, Tooby.

Tooby is an unobtrusive guest, so I don't mind when he arrives unannounced for dinner or a playdate. Last night he unexpectedly accompanied us to my husband's basketball game, and since he's 19 he enjoyed the privilege of riding in the front passenger's seat (after I moved my diaper bag to accommodate him, that is.)

My daughter once accused Tooby of being imaginary, which infuriated my son. So you can imagine my surprise when one day, during a discussion on creation (Did God make mountains? Did God make horses? Did God make ice cream?) my son pointed out that God made everything "except Tooby, because he's not real. I made him."

Tooby has been busy lately, or at least I assume he has because we've heard less about him in the past several months than we had in the previous year. I guess college and part-time jobs and all the other things that occupy a 19-year old's mind have made it tough to keep in touch with almost-four-year old friends who don't text.

I admit that I have enjoyed having Tooby around (once he got his act together and stopped hitting people, that is) and will be sad when he takes his final leave, as I guess most imaginary friends do. I suspect that time is drawing near, but before it happens I'm going to make every effort to meet my namesake hippo. Wouldn't you?