Page 7 - You can't Make This Shit Up!

Monk
June 16, 2017
“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”
If you knew me between the ages of 2 and lets say, way past 2, then you knew Monk. He was my very special friend. To call him a stuffed animal would be the doing him, and all other sawdust filled first friends a disservice.
Monk had a softish body. His top half was yellow 70’s type fabric. A mix of lets say velvet and that glow in the dark poster board material. His bottom half, same material, but black. He had hard plastic ears, face, hands and high top white sneakers. He wore a terry cloth t-shirt that had “I love elvis” stitched into its pattern. Monk was about 2 feet tall. God, I just loved him so much.
I had that guy tucked under my arms everywhere we went. He flew on the plane with me my first trip from New York to California. I pulled the tray table down, and he sat looking at me. It was magical. I loved off so much of his “fur” that eventually Monk was just an at home friend. His limbs had to be reinforced several times, and one ear completely ripped off his head. Luckily, I found his ear in my bed and we had it sewn back on.
Monk went through childhood with me. I cried into his monkey chest. I had tea parties with him. He went on many a sleepover. He was for sure the most popular monkey around town.
When I had my first baby, I thought it fitting that Monk was seated on a shelf in her nursery. Then one day, and this is a really painful thing to recount... She realized that Monk was in her room. He literally scared the shit out of her!!! I took him off the shelf, so she could marvel at his awesomeness. All she saw was the scary plastic eyes. The plastic monkey hands. The smell of a dusty old beat up stuffed animal was not quite as magical to my baby as he was to me. She wanted NOTHING to do with him. She didn’t see the magic. Monk was put away for “safe keeping”.
Monk is still with me. He is safely stored away in the garage, in a box, in the rafters. He was as real to me as any loyal friend could be. He holds all the secrets and dreams of my childhood, and he won’t tell a soul. I’m not gonna lie, I still love that guy. Everyone deserves a Monk.