I was five years old when "Toy Story" came out, so Buzz, Woody, Rex, Slinky, Hamm, the Potato Heads, and the rest of the gang made up an integral part of my imaginative consciousness as I finished kindergarten. "You've Got A Friend in Me" still echoed in my ears as I turned to face my next frontier--elementary school--and I was nine when the sequel made its way into my heart, lassoing Jessie and Bullseye to the plastic dream team. I was especially partial to Jessie. What can I say? She shares my name. And not my real name, either. My little-girl name, the name only my family calls me. The music, the magic, the characters--every aspect of your brilliant, simple series drew me in and hugged me tight simply because I was a little girl with toys, and your appeal to my demographic made me feel special.
But years passed and, like Andy, I grew up. I'm interning as a stem cell researcher at Harvard now, but when I got home from the last installment of your trilogy I made sure to hug the stuffed blue lizard that makes its home on my bed extra hard.
Thanks for everything,
Jessie
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