What's Your Monkey Story?
Most of mine are about cats
You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough. - Mae West
A version of this story originally appeared in 2018.
I’m fortunate to live within a half-day drive of family who still live in my hometown of Dallas. When we’re together, one of our favorite activities is sitting around the dinner table, stuffing our faces and shooting the breeze. Once upon a time during one of these gab sessions, my brother (who inherited the oral storytelling gene from my dad) somehow got off on a tangent and said, "Hey, let me tell you my monkey story".
My brother and I are close in age. We keep in touch. We share similar temperaments, senses of humor, musical tastes, and a love of Tex Mex. I have known him since the day he was born, but I had never heard his monkey story.
It seems he was out at some snooty Dallas eatery in the 80s, where all the men's collars were popped and the ladies' hair was big. One couple brought their pet spider monkey with them to lunch out on the patio. Apparently the monkey found a wad of gum stuck underneath their table, amused himself with it for a while, then rinsed his tiny monkey paws in everyone's iced tea. They were so busy looking cool, they didn't notice, and enjoyed their tea just like everyone else.
This story definitely got a few laughs around our table. And as often happens, one story leads to another. Turns out my brother had another monkey story, about the time he visited the local zoo on a field trip for a high school photography class and was selected to hold an orangutan while everyone else took photos.
Huh. Another monkey story I had never heard. And what I wouldn't give to have a copy of one of those photos. Skyline High School class of 1978, hit me up!
But wait—there's more. There was that time he and his husband Peter were on vacay in Africa (well, ONE of the times 😉), and a monkey jumped down onto their table and snatched Peter's toast right off his plate, quicker than you can say 'capuchin'. That one, I had heard.
Which reminded my mom of the time one of their neighbors had a pet monkey that jumped onto my grandmother's back and scared the everlovin' bejeezus out of her. Granny Winona never much liked monkeys after that.
By this time, I was feeling very inadequate that I didn't have a monkey story of my own. So I shared one I had heard on NPR about how some folks in India are sick and tired of the rampaging monkeys raiding their village. Sure, it was second-hand, but it was all I had.
All this monkey business got me thinking about why some people have monkey stories, and some don't. Monkey stories represent getting out there and living life. I don't mean you have to actually get yourself a pet monkey, or spend a fortune on pricey vacations.
Just interact.
Go places.
Do things.
Observe and remember. Document and share. Sitting at home in front of a glass screen is not going to get you any monkey stories. It's the first-person monkey story that people want, not some regurgitated thing like mine that you heard on the radio or read online.
I still don't have any first-person monkey stories. But I recently bagged a good bat story, a peacock story, and an airplane-vs-flock of birds story. Next time I have dinner with my brother, let's see if he can top that.
I will leave you with three things:
I’ve been challenging myself to take a walk every day throughout the month of June. So far, I’m 10 for 11 (one day I substituted a swim, which kinda counts, right?). My chances of seeing a monkey in my town are pretty slim, but far better if I take a walk than if I don’t. I’m finding the color walk strategy very helpful in making my daily walks less boring.
Recently I was doing a little exploring and stumbled across the public library in Seguin TX, about an hour away from me. It’s magnificent! Well worth a visit if you’re in the area.
Texas Monthly’s annual Top 50 BBQ list is out. One also happens to be in Seguin. Road trip!
My latest book, Double Fault, is available now on Amazon.
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My uncle had a capuchin monkey like the one from Friends he was scary. Another uncle had an orangutan who got loose and ended up in the boiler room at Holy St Power Plant. Everyone was freaking out. My father saw him and advised, "That's my brother Gilbert's monkey. Just leave him alone, when he gets bored, he'll go home." They did and he did.