Monkey Business

Dear Ian:
When we were growing up, your mother had this stuffed monkey doll named Wilhelmina. Now the doll didn't come with that name. Not that I was aware of anyhow. And where she came up with such a bizarre, out-of-the-ordinary name still escapes me.

But she loved that doll.

And boys being boys, I am sure that your uncle and I kidnapped it and held it for ransom on more than one occassion.

Many, many, many years later, it may have been when your brother was born, we visited your home in Bay City.

Your mother, bless her heart, started bringing forth totems from our youth. Sure enough, amongst the many items that she brought out that day sat Wilhelmina.

Your mother still had that same childlike twinkle in her eye as she paraded Wilhelmina around the room. Gone, for me, was the urge to kidnap that monkey and hold it for ransom.

There are things from your youth worth hanging onto no matter how long, and there are the childish impulses that must disappear. Your mother taught me that.

(though it would have been pretty funny to bring Wilhelmina back to Minnesota, if even for a few months).