And then, somehow, I got caught up in the sock monkey craze. Was I nostalgic for my son’s childhood (and teenhood and collegehood)? Or, perhaps, did I want my grandchildren to live in a world partly populated by soft toys, not just electronics? Maybe, ubiquitous-wise, it’s just an easy choice of Christmas gift.
First, I bought my son and his wife a sock monkey flannel sheet set for their waterbed. Then, to draw my grandson into the game, I bought a flying sock monkey that could be launched like a rubber-band slingshot — Aidan said it traveled a full block. Last year, I bought a 4-foot sock monkey named Max, which I’d seat behind me when we video-Skyped, then denied was there as my family insisted they could see him. Later, Chip helped me stuff Max in a box to be shipped for Christmas.
This year, I’ve bought Lance and Mary matching sock monkey pajamas, while Maya gets a sock monkey pop star girlfriend for Socko.
Realizing that next year the twins will be teenagers and this could be a last “childhood” Christmas, I also bought a monkey for Aidan, though it’s a different kind that will sit on his shoulder and do guy things like burp. I heard that it’s all the rage with preteens in Europe. And this is the end of the sock monkey story.
Barbara Anderson of Marblehead is president of Citizens for Limited Taxation and a Salem News columnist.