“Noel, it’s time to give the monkey to the nice lady,” urged our
den mother.
“I think I want to keep him,” whispered eight-year-old me.
Joy Looney smiled at the nice lady holding a box full of
homemade sock monkeys before returning her attention back my way.
“All of the other boys have given her their monkeys,” Mrs. Looney reasoned. “You know he’s going to be loved by someone very special,” she
bartered.
“But I love him too,” I countered coyly as I had fondly taken to
the soft red, brown, and cream creation that had taken me three Saturdays to
cut, stitch and stuff during our weekly den meetings in Mrs. Looney’s garage.
And now, when it actually came time to hand over my proud
masterpiece to the nice lady from the hospital – the one who would see to it
that it made its way to some girl or boy who would benefit from the gift - I
hesitated, chocked, blanched, and bargained.
It was only momentary hesitation, chocking, blanching, and
bargaining on my part mind you, as you may have caught on by now, but there it
all was nonetheless.
However, with the tact of Solomon and the patience of Job, Mrs.
Looney eventually convinced me to put my monkey in the box with the others and
led me back to my waiting mates.
No one teased me about the incident that I can recall.
I suspect some might have had similar thoughts of reluctance in
handing over their monkeys as well.
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