Monkey love...

Everything that we experience in life is somehow packaged and filed away inside of our mind. The wrapping materials that we use during this keepsake process is mostly made out of our different senses. We unknowingly use our tactile, hearing, visual, smell, and taste senses to create a sort of cypher lock from which the correct combination will later be required to be used in order to retrieve these memories that have been filed away. If you don't believe me, just walk down the street and across an opening door of a bakery, let the smell of freshly baked bread suck you in. I guarantee you that the aroma in itself will remind you of how delicious this treat is with melted butter and a fresh cup of coffee. I have experienced this when I am driving and suddenly I see at a distance another vehicle that appears to be like the one my dad used to drive and we loved so much as kids, his red Hillman. Instantly my mind goes to work unlocking memories of sitting in the back of the station wagon, playing with a toy monkey on the way to church. I was only three years of age, and still I can remember what it smelled like to be inside that car, and even the feeling of the cold metal against my skin when riding in the back.

A few years ago I had a memory of being in a dark long cobblestone road that led to a tall building at the end with many lights and a big entrance door. I was describing this memory to my mom and instantly she finished the description and told me that this was the place we were staying at the beginning of our time in England before we had a permanent residence. I was just about one year old at that time. I cannot remember what exactly triggered that memory, but I am dumbfounded by the amazing ability that my mind has to access so far back in time. Itchy wool sweaters. If you have worn one, that is exactly what you will think about when you see one on display in a clothing store. Our entire life is filed in our heads and all we need to access it is the right key.

In this same fashion, there are places inside of us that only certain people can access. It is not just memories that are locked away, but emotions are also part of the package that requires the correct key in order to open the door which keeps them tucked away safely. It would be foolish to think that every single one of our emotions is readily available to be accessed by a stranger. The love that I felt throughout the years for a dog that I owned (or better yet, she owned me) cannot be accessed by another similar pet. The memory of the emotion surfaces at the appearance of another standard poodle, but the emotion in itself, the desire to squeeze her cheeks and get a sloppy kiss from her is not part of the more recent experience. So in this way I validate in my mind and in my heart the reason that I feel so differently for each person that I have met and with whom I've had any kind of emotional connection. Every single one of these memories are unique and have their own set of keys for access.

There is something that I have always been curious about with respect to emotions, in particular our feelings of love. My curiosity comes from my own experience that in order to know whether you like or dislike something you first have to try it. How would you be able to know that your favorite color is blue if you had not been able to see many, many other colors to compare it to blue? How do you know that your favorite flavor of ice cream is double fudge brownie if the only flavor you ever taste is double fudge brownie? Just because you like it does not mean it is your favorite. You can only truly say that among all the color of roses that you have ever seen, your favorite are white roses. The point is that we can only compare are likes and dislikes based on individual experience.

Does this concept of having to experience things in life more than once also apply to love? Can we truly tell someone that we love them more than anyone else in the world if we have only loved once? In my opinion that is why young people should go out and experience love as many times as it takes to be able to appreciate what love truly is before committing themselves to marriage. First of all how can you love anyone with all your heart if you have never loved anyone else to be able to compare what you are currently feeling? Second of all love is much more than just a word, it is not by any means a single emotion. Love is a whole combination of ideas and experiences that mixed together create our image of what we are willing to give in exchange for what is given back in return. As parents most of us give our love unconditionally, meaning that even when our kids are being brats we still love them. Regardless of their flaws we are able to see beyond their imperfections and admire the beauty from within. If for no other reason at all, this is the best one that I can think of to justify having children. At least in my personal situation I have most definitely learned to what extremes I will go to justify what I feel for my children. Now, as an adult, I look back at how my parents showed me their love and I am in awe with their patience and unconditional love. They set the bar pretty high, making it easier for me to be more tolerant and a better father myself.

When I was around three years of age I had a toy monkey. It was one of those fuzzy hanging on elastic strings from it's limbs and bouncing up and down cute toys. I remember this so clearly that it is kind of scary how I can forget other things so quickly. I would play with my monkey for hours and became very attached to it until years later it was replaced with a stuffed puppy named Happy (this one was cool, he had his own little green plastic brush to comb his uncombable synthetic hair). On Sundays my mom and dad would dress us up to a "t" and take us to Catholic mass. It was during this time when we lived in England that my dad had bought the shinny red Hillman station wagon. In those days there were no seat belt laws and it was common for the kids to ride in the back. My sisters all primped up with their itchy dresses and hats would sit in the middle seat, and me being the youngest was typically sent to the back so that I could let my wiggly butt fancy free around without bothering anyone else. My mom would start the lecture from before we ever boarded the vehicle warning me that I needed to leave the monkey at home because church was no place for toys. My begging and crying typically would grant me temporary custody of the bouncing gizmo while we rode to church, this time with a new warning that it needed to stay in the car upon arrival.

Once every one was out of the car I would then grab on to my monkey with both hands really tight and refuse to hand it over to the parental zoo keeper. Eventually my mom would give in again with a third warning that as long as I did not play with it in church I could hold on to it. Well yes, you guessed it, as soon as the stand up, sit down, and kneel routine would begin, out came the monkey from it's cage to play with me. It truly was not my fault, the toy was just irresistible and I was completely powerless against it's playful abilities. Even though my mom had that incredibly scary look that pierced my little body and reminded me that I was in an immense amount of trouble for not keeping my promise, consequences meant nothing compared to the momentary fun I was having while everyone else was trying solemnly participate in mass.

Once mass was over I was still protected from a good spanking by the temporary greetings that were typical between adults at the entrance of the church. As soon as the intermingling was over I would rush to the car and sit way, way back where mom's talented and disciplinary hand could not reach. I could tell from the look in her face that I was going to get a spanking when I got home for being such a terror during mass, but I still had one last weapon in my childish arsenal. As soon as we would arrive at home I would run into the kitchen, plant my tiny ass against the refrigerator, assume the two hand praying position and start begging to an image that she had across the kitchen of Jesus out loud "please God, please forgive me baby Jesus, I'll never do it again, I promise" over and over again. This my dear friends is how a three year old kid manipulates his parents out of giving him a well deserved smack in the butt for being naughty at church! I remember that it worked almost every time. Ha, ha, ha!

Love is so much more than kissing and hugging and telling someone how much you care for them. It is how you embrace someone else in your life regardless of their flaws, their differences, and their own limitations. Even though we think that we are in love when we are young and dumb, all we really are doing is learning how to love at that time. Eventually, with enough personal growth and experiences in our lives, we find in ourselves a beautiful buried treasure that allows us to measure what we are truly feeling. The knowledge that we have gained by then is what allows us to give to someone else what we really have inside of us to give, and not what we thought we had when we were younger.

I have learned that anything and almost everything can be taken away from an individual. For many only their experiences are safe because everything else is easy target for the taking by ruthless wars and villains. Maybe that is why it is so sad and devastating for those that lose their loved ones to terrible diseases such as Alzheimer and other mental illnesses. Our minds are the most personal and safeguarded treasures that we posses. To see someone that we love slowly lose their ability to remember all that they have experienced is beyond words. To those of you that have been in these shoes I offer you a special place in my heart so that yours can once in a while lay down next to mine and feel that you will never again be alone in your pain. Rest assured that I truly understand what it is like to see mental illness take so much of what we love from someone that we care about. My prayers, my thoughts, and my love are all with you.

On a lighter note, remember that if you ever find out that your behaviour is leading the way to some kind of undesirable consequence, all you have to do is stick your butt against the refrigerator, assume the hand prayer position, and beg God to give you a break. Sometimes this works.

Dad