I have a little stuffed Kermit the Frog sitting on my stereo speaker. He's an exact replica of the Kermit who sits on my parents' banister every year at Christmastime, capping off the garland and lights my mom always winds down the staircase. Except my Kermit's not wearing a festive plaid vest with gold buttons; he's in his more usual state of undress. He's only 8 inches tall or so, and he's poseable. Usually I have him waving at me from his perch with his ankles crossed.
This little guy is tied up with so many of my family memories and interactions, it's ridiculous. It might sound superficial and/or lame to tie your fondest family ties to a Muppet, but he's a Christmas staple, as I mentioned above, and a reminder of what I love most about my folks. We always listen to the Muppet Family Christmas CD and watch the movie (taped from its original broadcast in December 1987) at Christmastime, or at least we did when we were all there at the same time. Kermit always gets the bittersweet songs, and I shamelessly admit to feeling sappy when he sings. There's something about the little guy that just makes me want to bawl every time I hear him.
More happily, my dad's a goofball and a comic lover, so anything mildly cartoony is linked to him in my mind. Kermit's a specific example, because once my dad came to my elementary school for one of those "career day"things and taught everyone how to draw in one simple lesson. (He wanted to be a cartoonist before he realized it wouldn't make him any money.) His lesson was teaching all us second graders to draw Kermit's face: make a diamond; set half-circles on top; little planets inside for pupils; upside-down triangle at the bottom of the diamond; use an m for the tongue, and voila. Kermit.
So, having the little Kermit with me in Michigan makes me feel connected to the least-academic elements of my family life (which are most of them... but still). He's a happy reminder of the people who are most important to me.