Hi.. It's the first time that I write something on this board. I am trying to practice english these days. So I think this board is proper for me. From now on I'd like to visit here often. This 'Velvetenn Rabbit' is a story that my teacher told the studuents in my institues. As a matter of fact it was a quite difficult story for me to understand. It is a story that seems very childlike on the outside but it actually has a much deeper meaning for our lives. [The Velveteen Rabbit] Once there was a Velveteen Rabbit, and in the beginning he was really splendid. He was fat and bunchy, just as a rabbit should be. His coat was brown and white, and was very soft. He had real thread whiskers, and his ears were lined with pink satin. On Christmas morning, when he sat wedged in the top of the Boy's stocking, with a sprig of holly between his paws, the effect was charming. Of course there were other toys that Christmas. Nuts and oranges and a toy engine, and chocolate almonds and a clockwork mouse, but the Rabbit was quite the best of all. For at least two hours the Boy loved him, and then aunts and uncles came to dinner, and there was a great rustling of tissue paper and unwrapping of parcels, and in the excitement fo looking at all the new presents the Velveteen Rabbit was forgotten. For a long time he lived in the toy cupboard or on the nursery floor, and no one thought very much about him. He was naturally shy, and being only made of velveteen, some of the more expensive toys made fun of him. THe mechanical toys like the model train were very struck up, and boasted that they were real, But the Rabbit could not claim to be a model of anything, for he didn't know that real rabbits existed. He thought they were all stuffed with sawdust like himself, and he understood that sawdust was quite out of date. Even Timothy, the jointed wooden lion, who was made by disabled soldiers, and should have had broader views, put on airs. Between them all the poor little Rabbit was made to feel himself very insignificant and commonplace, and the only person who was kind to him at all was the Skin Horse. The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the others. He was so old that his brown coat was bald in patched and showed the seams underneath, and most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled out to string bead necklaces. He was wise, for he had seen a long succession of mechanical toys arrive to boast and swagger, and by and by break their mainsprings and pass away. He knew that they were only toys, and would never turn into anything else. For nursery magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those playthings that are old and wise and experienced likd the Skin Horse understand all about it. "What is real?" asked the Rabbit one day. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?" "Real isn't how you are made", said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but really loves you, then you become real." "Does it hurt?" "Mmmm..Sometimes," He was always truthful. "When you are real you don't mind being hurt." "Does it happen all at once, like being wound up, or bit by bit?" "It doesn't happen all at once. You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily, or who have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are real, most of your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand." "I suppose you are real?" And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive. But the Skin Horse only smiled. "The Boy's Uncle made me real. That was a great many years ago. But once you are real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always." The Rabbit sighed. He thought it would be a long time before this magic called Real happended to him. He longed to become Real, to know what it felt like; and yet the idea of growing shabby and losing his eyes and whiskers was rather sad. He wished that he could become it without these uncomfortable things happening to him. Wow, It's quite a long story....my fingers are sore..hehe... What do you feel after reading this story..?? Then, Have a nice weekend...Bye..