I’ll Be a Monkey’s Uncle
“When I grow up, I’m gonna be a great chump...er, chimp!” —Chester O’Chimp
When reflecting on childhood Christmases, I fondly remember Chester O’Chimp.
I was six years old, and I can only imagine how my longing for him drove my family crazy. I asked for him first in my annual letter to Santa, and then again in person as I sat on Santa’s lap in a big old sleigh. One of the annual Christmas traditions in Hales Corners, where we lived, was Santa coming to town. His sleigh was gigantic and filled with gifts, but sadly, there were never any reindeer.
Santa’s sleigh would be parked at the end of a row of stores in front of Gerrene’s, a women’s clothing store my mom would occasionally drag me through. Christmas music would play, the stores would all be open, and holiday lights and wreaths made the scene festive and fun.
In a lucky year, Mom would first take me to Harmony Restaurant, where we’d sit at the counter. I’d drive her mad by swiveling around on the padded stool till my head spun, and Mom was afraid I’d fly off.
I’d order a grilled cheese on white bread with orange cheese and chocolate milk. I hated it when they’d trick me with white cheese or a darker bread. Mom would always get coffee, and I’m not sure what else.
That year, I could barely wait for Santa to ask me what I wanted for Christmas. But first, they had to take a picture, and then he asked me if I’d been a good girl for my parents. I hoped Mom wasn’t listening as I answered, “Yes!” Then I asked for Chester O’Chimp, making it clear he was all I needed.
My older siblings, Jack and Jill, told me there weren’t any Chesters left and that I wouldn’t get one. Of course, I cried and carried on, as they no doubt hoped I would. But on Christmas morning, a box with Chester inside was under the tree!
The best part about Chester was that he could talk. I’d pull the string over and over again to hear him say, “I’ll be a monkey’s uncle... Oh, I am!” After that, whenever my Dad started to say, “I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” Jack, Jill, and I would say in unison, “Oh, you are!”
One of Chester’s sayings was, “Ah, it’s marvelous, it tis...how we look so much alike!” Jack and Jill would mimic him but change it a little: “It’s marvelous, isn’t it, how much Janie and Chester look alike?” Another of Chester’s sentences was, “I'm just a little chimp, diddle, diddle, dum.” Of course, Jack and Jill changed that, too: “I’m just a little chimp, dumb, dumb, dumb.” This would make me furious, and I’d adamantly defend Chester: “He’s not dumb. You are.” Then I’d be sent to my room.
Chester never left my side, and eventually, I pulled his string so many times that it broke, silencing him. No one in the family seemed anxious to try to fix him.
Chester also had hands you could mold, and I molded his hand to fit perfectly in mine. I’d drag him around the stores like my Mom dragged me. Chester was my first stuffed best friend.
Other favorite gifts throughout the years were an Easy-Bake Oven (my dad would eat everything I baked), a drum set (that drove my mom crazy), and the boxer pup Dad brought home one year, whom we named Nicky (for St. Nick).
In recent years, Christmas has become a low-key event, with no tree and little fanfare. Dane and I attend Mass on Christmas Eve at St. Philip’s Church in Rolling Ground, where my friend Bonnie and her daughter, Lindsey, sing like angels in the choir. Afterward, back home with the critters, we exchange simple gifts.
My days of longing for Chester O’Chimp are gone, but the memories remain—and I’ve forgiven Jack and Jill for being so obnoxious. Now I wish Mom was alive to hear me say, “Yes, I’ve been a good girl.” I’d love to sit at the counter at the old Harmony Restaurant with her and have my grilled cheese sandwich just the way I like it, with a glass of chocolate milk!
I’d bring Chester along, plop him on a stool, and give him a few quick turns before I pulled his string to hear him say again, “Don't just feed me bananas. I like people food.”
