My Little Monkey

When I was little, I had a stuffed monkey. He wasn’t anything particularly pretty, like the fancy sock monkeys, but to me, he was special, and I loved him, nonetheless. I am no longer in possession of that little monkey, but I remember him in detail: he was made of soft cotton, small in stature, gray colored with button eyes, wore a smile, and had a thin, long tail. Much like the story of the velveteen rabbit, he was worn thread bare from excessive love and handling, and he slept with me each and every night. Unfortunately, I don’t remember when he disappeared, what became of him, or what he was called, but the memory of him is still very much alive.

One summer, my family and I went on a trip to the mountains. At five years of age, because it didn’t happen very often, I thought staying in a motel was the stuff from which dreams were made – enjoyed by only a few moderately rich people (even though we were more than moderately non-rich). I remember waking up bright and early the first morning during our stay, eager for a day of sightseeing in Maggie Valley, North Carolina. Once my family was ready, I wanted to leave my monkey on the bed, but my mother quickly shunned the idea, saying he could become tangled up in the bed covers and accidentally taken away by the maid; instead, she hid him behind the luggage. When we returned to our room later that day, we found the newly cleaned room and bed waiting for us, with none other than my esteemed, loved monkey sitting front and center against the plumped-up pillows. It was only years later I learned my mother had been embarrassed by the worn, tattered (and likely dirty) monkey and had sought to hide him from the cleaning staff. The maid, however, being the diligent individual she was, had found him, choosing instead to leave him in an honored position, situated in the center of the bed – much to my mother’s mortification.

When my children were young, I often read “The Velveteen Rabbit” to them. Each time I read that story, I was reminded of my beloved monkey. It may be pure, whimsical folly to think it, but I so hope my sweet little, stuffed monkey was so well-loved that he, too, became real, and to this day, he enjoys a full life in some far away, enchanted land filled with plants, fruits. Wherever he is, I am sure he has an abundance of monkey friends and is loved by all.