Years ago, on my third birthday, a new and lovely friend arrived to live with me.
I fell in love with him instantly.
Not much bigger than my father's hand, he was quietly mysterious, and looked supremely wise and exotic.
I named him Mr. Chin, and put him on the windowsill in my bedroom where he could watch over me.
The breezes from my open window often knocked him over, and gave him a broken nose.
But my love for Mr. Chin never wavered.
I loved his soulful gaze, his tiny hands and feet, and his exotic clothing.
I loved the way he never demanded anything from me but the occasional dusting, yet he gave me constant and undivided attention.
Today, 47 years later, Mr. Chin is still with me. He keeps me company, watching over me and my family from his spot on a little red pillow on the living room bookshelf.