“Mimi, look what Santa Claus brought me. Meet Blue!” My grandson’s animated voice accosted my eardrums on this incredibly early Christmas morn. A sky-colored parakeet landed on my nose. I screeched and crashed back onto my bed. “Are you scared of birds?” the smiling 6-year-old asked. “No, Nicholas,” I said, “I had a couple of parakeets when I was your age. I had lots of different animals growing up.”
With his peaked curiosity, I suddenly shared the stage with the fluttering nervous bird. The questions blurted from the mini-inquisitor. “Did you ever have a dog? Mama said Santa can’t fit a dog in his sack, so he brought me a little birdie.” Smart daughter, I mused and replied, “Several dogs, Jackie, PeeWee, Blackie, Agape…” “What about cats?” he asked wide-eyed. “Yes,” I admitted and gave the litany of animals I owned in childhood: “Kittens, parakeets, cockatiel, fish, turtles, chicks, bunnies, and goats.” I failed to mention that the goats, rabbits, and chickens were short-term pets. No time for bonding with these tasty creatures sacrificed for Mema’s famous cacciatore dishes.
“What was the best pet you ever had?” I knew that my reply would amaze my adoring admirer for years to come. “A monkey. I had my own spider monkey!”
And the memories flooded back…
“Angelo,” Mema bellowed, “Go to the Alligator Farm and getta the money he owes you!” Daddy gave a line of credit to all the regular customers at his wholesale produce business much to my Italian mother’s disdain. “OK,” he acquiesced, “I’ma go today, nonja worry.”
When the rusty red pick-up truck returned, out popped an excited Sicilian carrying a squirming brown bundle. “Yeah, a monkey!” I squealed. Daddy held the terrified creature in front of his face no doubt as protection from the frying pan swinging in Mema’s clutched hand. Her furious shout, “I tella you to getta the MONEY, not the MONKEY! Wassa matter-you no hear so good?”
I grabbed the shivering animal and took him outside. The neighborhood kids were envious of the new arrival and clamored to pet him. “Meet Spidey!” I proudly announced as a dozen hands grabbed at my new pet. He panicked and bit my hand. I let go of his tether and the frightened creature scampered up the nearest tree.
Thus began the two most exciting weeks in the Giardino house. We soon discovered that Spidey was hardly a domesticated pet. Attempts to tame him were met with biting, scratching and spitting. The most entertaining and hilarious moment was when Mema attempted to diaper the little beast and he got away. Spidey ran around the living room, sprinted to the dining room, and found safety in the highest spot. Our exquisite, imported chandelier swung round and around. Shiney crystals clicked to a chorus of animal shrieks, children’s laughter, and Mema’s Neapolitan curses.
On Day 14, we bid our little friend a tearful goodbye. Daddy drove away with Spidey to my flowing tears and Mema’s warning, “You better coma back with $100 thisa time!” When Daddy’s truck reappeared in the driveway, I ran to look inside, hoping to see Spidey once again. In place of his cage a Zenith television set rested on the ripped brown seat.
“Wheresa the money?” Mema yelled. He sheepishly approached her and explained, “Itsa TV. I trada for the monkey.” Mema shook her head, laughed and hugged her proud husband. My brother and I cheered for the color TV, the first one we had ever seen. And with that surprise, all thoughts of Spidey vanished.
Fast forward to Christmastime in Florida…
Nicholas shook his head and asked, “What’s the big deal about a color TV?” “Nobody had one back then,” I explained, “All my friends came over to watch Mickey Mouse Club on it. I was the most popular kid in the neighborhood.”
My pensive grandboy exclaimed, “Next Christmas I’m asking for a spider monkey like yours, Mimi!” I snickered, “Your mother would love that, and it will fit perfectly in Santa’s sack.”
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Living my personal mission statement, “Each One, Teach One,” my greatest blessing is being the mother of two, grandmother of three and a lifelong educator. A graduate of UF and UNF, I am the former principal of St. Paul’s Catholic School in Jacksonville Beach, Florida and executive director of Tree Hill Nature Center in Jacksonville.
Since retirement my avocation is now my vocation – freelance writing. The technical writing of past professional life evolved into more creative genres of poetry, short fiction and memoir. My goal is to invoke the entire spectrum of human emotions in my reader: longing to laughter, pain to promise, despair to discernment.
