"Here you go son," Andy exclaimed to his four year old son Matthew as he presented him with a doll that had been more been more than a toy. Excitedly, the boy recieved it. It was no ordinary cowboy. It was Woody, his best friend for many years who had gotten him through his childhood and had made him laugh, who'd been there through his tears, and had comforted him when he was afraid. He was there for him when the monsters arrived and when the shots came and when the night fell. He was there for him throughout the birthdays and for the arrival of his sister Molly. No, there was nothing that Andy hadn't been through that Woody hadn't been seen him though, and he had done so proudly.
He would never forget his first day at Andy's house. Woody hadn't been on the shelves at Al's Toy Barn very long; in fact it was his first day there when Andy's mother had so carefully picked him out. She could have chosen any other toy but she had picked him. Him- Woody, the cowboy who could say anything with the quick draw of a string. The one who was more than a toy- he was real, somehow; at least Andy thought so. And that's all that mattered in the eyes of a child. Anyways Andy had just turned nine, a good age, young enough to believe but old enough to take care of Woody. There would be wear and tear, but it would be made in love. And Woody knew that. With every scratch came an embrace, and Woody was careful not to let Andy see the smile that he was so carefully hiding. If he only knew the secret world that he was missing out on- if only. From the moment he met Andy he knew that everything had changed- this was a world of magic, of make believe- of fantasy. And nothing would ever be the same.
Then a few weeks later Andy came down with chicken pox. He was sick and miserable, more so than Woody would have liked to have seen him. But every day, even though he couldn't play, Andy picked him to sleep with, and when Andy was too sick to talk, it was enough for him to know that Woody was there by his side, and the Cowboy knew that his job was done. Andy could have picked any toy, any one of them who had been there longer, but he picked Woody, and for that he was grateful. He would make it up to him. He didn't know how, but he would find a way. He couldn't let his owner down, not now, not ever.
Later on, when Andy found out that he was going to be a big brother, he was scared. He didn't say it but Woody knew that he was. He could tell. He spent more time with the toys, even with the ones that he didn't play with too much anymore. If Woody could talk he would tell him everything would be okay. He went through similar fear every time Andy got a new toy. But Andy always had time for him somehow, and he always made him feel special. And he had no doubt that Andy's parents would do the same for him. Why couldn't the boy see it? Was there a way Woody could help him understand? All he could do was play, the only way he knew how, and then somehow Andy would see that everything would be okay. And somehow it was.
And then there was the move. Andy didn't say it but he had to be apprehensive. Woody didn't say it, but he was too. Change was never easy. But Andy was growing up and he was adapting, so so must the gang. Instead of taking his cues from the toys they were now following his lead. Funny how life worked out that way.
And now Andy was a father, passing off some of his toys to his own son. He hadn't forgotten them after all. After all of these years, they still counted, they still mattered. It was nice to know that they were still his destiny. It would be strange, going from sitting in the attic to being toys, playthings again. But after all, what were friends for?
The end