"Dad," my daughter Anna said to me. "Monkey's getting old." Now, Monkey (that's his name, not just what he is), has been Anna's close companion and bedtime friend since she was a year old (she's six now).
"Why do you say that?" I asked.
"Look," she said and pointed to a hole developing in his arm.
Now, I don't know about monkeys in the wild, but stuffed monkeys in captivity have a pretty hard life. Anna's Monkey has gone everywhere she has. He has fallen down stairs, been dressed in doll clothes, and slept with her nearly every night. And Monkey is old.
For, time passes. Anna is six and will be seven this fall and though we are seldom ready to give up the things we treasure the most, time steals them away anyway.
Even well-loved, treasured monkeys.
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