I try to write with some sort of diversity in topic so that the reader does not get bored with the same old stories about skateboards and punk rock. In this instance, I couldn’t avoid writing about Son #1 again. The kid is never at a loss for saying something uniquely intriguing or behaving in a way only his mother could love.

I once opined about two things Son #1 routinely practiced. Singing and running. And sometimes, both actions are performed in unison. Fresh off his fifth birthday, Son #1 is a year older and ‘stronger’ because of it. He was showered with gifts and we’ve done our best to lay down the subtext that he’ll have to ‘donate’ some of his older belongings to the other kids. Of course, he agrees in theory. What I predict will happen is that he will lose it with such substance in behavior deterioration that it will justify its log here on this platform.

But not today. Let’s talk Son #1’s birthday booty and his penchant for singing. Of the many unique gifts bestowed upon him, there was one of which I had no clue to be a favorite. It was an old school sock monkey. You know the kind, the freaky gray and white cottony, drooping sock monkey with the red lips, yarn tuft of hair, and red monkey butt. Unbeknownst to me, Son #1 has entertained himself with Son #2’s new school, light blue sock monkey for months prior to this. Which, by the way, doesn’t have the freaky red lips and monkey butt.


This brings us to the meat of this entry. Son #1 now has his very own sock monkey. It didn’t stop him from liberating Son #2’s sock monkey from the boy’s crib. Now the two monkeys live together in a state of monkey bliss. While sock monkeys are a startling as a clowns or zombies, they become more intolerable and strangely freakish when you read my next statement. Several nights ago, Son #1 began to ad lib a song about his ‘love’ for sock monkeys. It was eerily similar in beat and tune to that of Brass Monkey by the Beastie Boys. First, Son #1 has never listened to the Beasties with me. I can only blame his mother for this. Second, it’s not about the Beasties and the lack of listener discretion, it’s about his lyrics and sincerity. While the exact lyrics professed will not be written here, it’s safe to safe to say they were ‘American Pie-ish’ in nature. My wife and I were rolling with laughter after the song performance. Suffice to say, Son #1 has love for the sock monkey.

Boy. Sock. Love. Three topics which would never be discussed in the same context or in mixed company, or in public for that matter.

What makes this story even more interesting is the draw this toy had when near other five year olds prior to bringing it home. Apparently, the new craze in public affection is ‘moose kisses’. As defined by another five year old, a moose kiss is a strong, and slobbery lap of the tongue across a body part, or in this case, a sock monkey’s mouth. I had the privilege of having my hand moose kissed. But even more disturbing were the little kids moose kissing the sock monkey. Is your child lonely? Get them a sock monkey. It looks like the blankets of Son #1 have been trumped for a sock with arms, tail, and red lips. At least the sock monkey feels wanted in our home.