"Juma is a spicy monkey. He likes to tease the other monkeys in monkey preschool by throwing objects at them."
As I read the Jaguar Rescue Center's description of baby monkey, Juma, the memories came flooding back to me, making me smile. Some of my favorite memories are of times spent in the office with our spicy co-worker, Monty Larrew.
Here is a sample of a typical day in the office with Monty during report-writing week:
Report-writing week at Student Services was not for the faint of heart. Picture 20-30 professionals crammed into a mold-infested soon-to-be condemned building, with 5 days to complete 3.7 million reports before end of term. Tense times. I truly believe that the temperature was set to arctic blast in a failed attempt to rid the building of the green mold that was slowly enveloping our space.
Monty and I would arrive to work extra early during report-writing week to get a jump on things. He'd bring his collection of burned CDs from the 90-2000's and we'd divvy them up for the day. Monty would ramble on about the Nuggets. I'd listen and pretend to care. I'd ramble on about the Real Housewives. He'd listen and pretend to care. I'd put on my heaviest sweater and blow into my hands for dramatic effect. Then we'd put in our ear buds and get to work writing reports.
In a few hours, once the office was full of frantic professionals clicking madly on their keyboards, Monty would decide that he needed a break. He'd playfully kick my wheely chair to get my attention. I'd spin around a few times, take out my ear buds and feign annoyance, "What?"
"Look at Stephanie over there," he'd whisper snarkily. "She thinks she's got it all figured out, writing her 50-page report that no one will ever actually read."
He'd sneakily open up his desk drawer where he kept his impressive collection of rubber bands, and he'd slip one on his finger. He would draw it back slowly, close one eye and methodically shoot the elastic just over Stephanie's right shoulder. It would be just close enough for Steph to feel a slight breeze whizz past her ear, and she'd look up from her keyboard, puzzled.
Monty's face would light up. "Did you think I could get such a perfect shot?" he'd cackle, "Who's next?"
"Get Kim," I'd laugh. "She looks like she needs a break."
This time Monty would shoot the elastic so that it perfectly landed on Kim's keyboard, directly on her fingers as she typed.
Kim would immediately look up and lock eyes with Monty.
It was on.
"Monty!!!" she'd yell from across the room.
At that moment, people would notice the disruption, and they'd remove their ear buds.
Monty's eyes would twinkle with anticipation. He thrived as the self-proclaimed, "catalyst of chaos."
Within minutes, there'd be elastic bands flying through the air, sticking in the ceiling tiles, smacking people in the face, and snapping from people's fingers. There would be shrieking, screaming, and hollering.
Mission accomplished. Monty had succeeded.
Cue the making of Monty the Monkey.
Reading about Jumba, the spicy monkey at the Jaguar Rescue Center was the inspiration that I needed to start the process of writing my next story. I had my main character and began furiously typing out the first draft of my story, smiling as I recalled my memories of Monty.
But not only did I remember the mischievous and cheeky side of Monty as I created Monty the Monkey, I remembered a side of Monty that not everyone had the privilege of experiencing.
Monty was dedicated to his work as an Educational Psychologist. He held high standards for himself and for the professionals that he worked with. He always showed up, advocating for and encouraging his students to be better.
Monty and I shared a passion for early literacy. It broke my heart and angered Monty to see how many of the children we were working with - ranging from 4 to 16 years of age - couldn't read.
Monty championed a program called DIBELS that was introduced to our system to address the literacy concerns. DIBELS is an assessment to measure young children's early literacy skills and identify which students may need extra support with reading in the very early stages. Monty always pushed for evidence-based programs that provided us with data. We both agreed that this program was a great start. However, the system decided that it would be the Speech Pathologists and Educational Psychologists who would be responsible for the testing. Which meant a lot of extra work for us.
DIBELS testing was grueling. It typically spanned a one-week period at the end of each term and required us to test hundreds of children. But we didn't mind so much because we could see that it could be effective. We could finally identify which students required intervention (based on data), put them into an appropriate level of intervention, and then re-test to see if the intervention was improving our students' scores and reading abilities.
I vividly remember one day at the end of DIBELS testing week. Monty and I had assessed hundreds of students that week and were feeling exhausted but accomplished. It was end-of-year, and some of the students had made incredible progress, and we had the data to prove it. It was a breezy Friday in May, the school year was winding down, and Monty and I were both in good spirits. Monty offered to drive me home after work that day, as my car was in the shop.
As we drove down waterfront and mocked the cruise-shippers who walked aimlessly unaware in the streets (one of Monty's favorite activities), he unexpectedly pulled into a convenience store. "Be right back, " he said, as he ran into the store. When he returned, he had two ice cold Red Stripes in his hand. He handed me one and said, "We deserve this today, bud. Cheers!"
We clinked our Red Stripes together in celebration. I asked him where my lime was. He accused me of being a passenger princess and we carried on.
"Hey, call up Matty and request a song. Your choice," Monty suggested.
Those were the days when Monty's roommate, bud, and radio DJ, Matty Sloan, took requests on the radio at all hours of the day.
Monty cringed a little when I requested Toto's, "Africa." It was not his first choice. But he'd promised that I could make the request, so he allowed it.
As we drove down West Bay Road, the breeze blowing through the open windows of Monty's CRV, icy Red Stripes cooling our hands, I sang Africa at the top of my lungs.
Monty furrowed his brows and laughed, "It's just so bad!"
Monty joined in for a few lines, mocking my off-key performance.
"It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you!"
I am so grateful for that memory.
Sometimes you don't realize that you are living one of the best moments of your life until it becomes one of your best memories.
I want to always remember Monty. I want him to be remembered for all his mischievousness and for his wicked sense of humor, but also for what he stood for and what he contributed to this world. I also want to remember what an incredible friend he was to me. I want to imagine that he is somewhere in the tree-tops above, howling playfully, living his best afterlife.
Writing and dedicating a children's book in honor of his memory felt like the best way for me to do this.
Although I suspect he would have been a little pissed that his character is a monkey. I can picture him smirking sarcastically, "Could have chosen a lion or a tiger but nooooo, you had to make me the monkey?"
I present to you the second book in the Katie the Caiman series, Monty the Monkey.
No comments:
Post a Comment