Mean Monkeys in the Closet

In 1971, the edge of the universe, for me, was located just beyond the corner of Akers and Planz. My house was on a tiny cul-de-sac in a small town surrounded by dirt fields and farm land. I was four years old. I remember playing with my brother and sister, the little girl my mom babysat who almost drowned in our pool, and collecting penny toads at the sump. But my clearest, most vivid, and life altering memory is of the time a monkey attacked me in the backyard.

My siblings and I spent most of our summer days outside. My mother would literally tell us to "go outside and play" then lock the door behind us so she could get her housework done. The evenings were usually spent together, around the table, and then, either reading or watching whatever my father deemed worthy of viewing. Most of the time we read. On special occasions, he would BBQ hamburgers and we would sit at the picnic table under the patio and eat juicy, cheesy burgers and drink Pepsi.

One evening, after preparing my burger (with Miracle Whip and sweet pickle chips) I sat down at the table to enjoy my meal while the rest of my family constructed their burgers inside. I was the youngest, which is probably why I was served first.

As I was swinging my boney legs beneath the bench, feeling the warm tightness of my skin in the sun, and enjoying the first bites of burger - I was suddenly startled by a frightening sight. A Spider Monkey came flying (Wizard of Oz style) over the fence and leaped onto the table RIGHT IN FRONT ME. Baring his tiny, sharp teeth, he began screeching and clawing his boney little fingers at me. Let us all pause for a moment to take in how COMPLETELY terrifying and OUT OF THE NORM this experience would be FOR ANYONE - let alone for a little girl living in small town Bakersfield.

Needless to say, I totally freaked out! I ran into the house and slammed shut the sliding glass door. By this time, with me sobbing uncontrollably, my family joined me at the window. The monkey proceeded to consume my burger, clenched in his tiny, furry fists, while continuing to shriek at us all gawking at him through the window. Now, I know this sounds awful, and crazy, and surreal, but trust me, it gets worse. After devouring my homemade, yummy, BBQd cheeseburger, this animal, THIS BEAST, then began to jump and claw and scratch at the sliding glass door behind which my family and I had taken refuge. He basically tried to attack us – begging for more food. That creature went ballistic.

I don’t remember how it was all resolved. I guess I blocked most of it out of my memory. But I do know it had something to do with our nearby neighbors "The Mears" of racecar fame.

I was left scared. I spent most of my childhood afraid of the "mean monkeys in the closet" and caused my sister (who is seven years older) many hours of headache over my nightmares.

To this day, I cannot watch the Wizard of Oz with out wiggin' out.