memories #7                                        

                                                       MONKEY BUSINESS

    

     Having a little sister when you’re grown up is cool.  Having a little sister when you are 11 or 12 is a pain.  They are constantly competing for attention, continually in the way and tattle about everything.  

     My mother taught me not to hit girls, although I’m sure I got away with one or two light blows before the lesson was learned.  And little sisters soon learn they can get away with more shenanigans. ( A word I learned from my grandmother).  The combination of these two things left me searching for other ways to get revenge.

     My sister says it was her doll.  I maintain it was a stuffed monkey.  We have argued this point for years.  But, since I’m the one who found a measure of revenge and did the terrible deed, it was a monkey.  

     At age 12, things begin to change for little boys.  Puberty!  Feelings, emotions and new words all spout forth without thought of any consequence. It’s frustrating to have all these pent up emotions and almost anything set them off.  A parent’s request to do a chore that interrupts a fun activity, a gesture or word from peers that challenge one’s boyhood and, of course, little sisters who are always hanging around. 

     I got in trouble with mom and dad for something I don’t remember but I do know my sister was to blame.   She either tattled about something or got into my stuff.  Either way, I was angry.  I couldn’t hit her so I waited until she was preoccupied and took her stuffed monkey from her room.  I wanted to hit something and this 2 foot carnival monkey was it.

She said it was a doll, I said a monkey

     Our new house on Crestview, a subdivision of Durango, had a novelty we weren’t use to .....an attached garage.  Dad was at work and the garage was empty.  Here I would get my revenge and satisfy my frustration.  I would hold the monkey away from me with one hand and, with closed fist, swing at it with the other hand.  The monkey would absorb two or three mighty blows and then would fly across the garage when I let it loose and hit it at the same time.  I bounded across the garage to retrieve my prize and further vent my anger.  Two or three kicks to the pulverized monkey were followed by a repeat performance.

     Back and forth across the garage the battle was waged.  I was beginning to sweat!  The monkey was beginning to lose it’s stuffing.  I was winning!  With the monkey much lighter and the garage looking like the aftermath of a pillow fight, I exited the side door and retreated across the street to play with friends.

     I don’t remember my punishment.  I’m sure it was significant.   I think my Mom took care of it before Dad got home.   Unfortunately, it didn’t curtail my sister’s activities at all.  I would have to find other ways to get revenge.

     When we moved from that house years later, I’m sure that bits of stuffing were found in corners and behind boxes.  My sister and I would continue to cross paths and upset each other.  I did get my revenge  however.  After high school I joined the Navy.  My sister got stuck doing the dishes and other chores I once had to do.  She wrote me a letter once saying she missed me. What she meant was she missed me doing my chores.  REVENGE!