Chapter Seventeen: The Cleveland Zoo​​​

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     It was supposed to be a family outing. On the first day of August, the Cranberg Institute was closed for a teacher in-service, and Alma’s boss decreed her presence would not be required. Not wishing to waste a rare Alma day off, we scheduled a family trip to the Cleveland Zoo. It would be Emily and Jack’s third such expedition, but both earlier trips had occurred when Jack was just a year old. We hoped this excursion would be considerably more memorable.

 

     Unfortunately, our plans did not account for the capricious nature of Dr. Ben Larkin, Alma’s boss and a man given to altering everything from his hairstyle to the pictures in the Cranberg lobby based on nothing more than a “hunch.”  Two days before our scheduled trip, Professor Larkin changed his mind and decided the school’s administrative staff should also attend the in-service. The order was non-negotiable, and we were stuck. Alma and I planned to reschedule our outing, but the kids had other ideas.

 

     Jack started things off. “Why can’t Daddy take us?”

 

     I looked at Emily, now nodding her head in emphatic agreement. I then turned to Alma, hoping she could come up with some indisputable point of logic to support my cause. She tried; she really did try.

 

     “Daddy can’t haul you around the zoo on his own. Eventually, you will get tired, and he can’t carry you both.”

 

     Emily bristled at the thought that she, a mature six-year-old, would ever need to be carried. Far worse, however, she had a solution of her own.

 

     “Daddy doesn’t need to carry us. He can pull the wagon, and we can both ride in that.”

 

     I looked again at Alma, but she shrugged her shoulders - the price of raising smart kids.     

 

     Jack then chimed in with a request of his own.  “I want to go to the food court.”

 

     “How do you know the zoo has a food court?  You weren’t even two when we went there last.”

 

     “I remember McDonald’s and the pizza place.”

 

     His mother asked the obvious question. “What about the animals?”

 

     “I remember one had great big ears. I don’t remember anything else.”

 

     Alma glanced at me and said, “You need to take him back. I don’t want him telling his relatives the only thing he remembers about the zoo is McDonald’s.”

 

     I finally gave in. “We can go, but you guys need to stay in the wagon at all times. And when I say we’re leaving, we will go home. I’ll expect no complaints.”

 

     Jack and Emily both nodded, knowing full well they could renegotiate later. It was final – I was taking my children solo to the zoo.

 

     When zoo morning arrived, I got up early to see Alma off to school, part of me still hoping for a last-minute reprieve.

 

     “You know your in-service might benefit from some marketing expertise.”

 

     “Not on your life, buster. You’ll be fine. Just text me if you lose one of them.”

 

     “Your faith in me is inspiring.”

 

     The zoo opened at ten that morning, so I packed the kids in the car at nine forty-five. Halfway down our street, the day’s first snafu was averted when Emily realized we had forgotten the wagon. I turned around and grabbed the Radio Flyer out of our garage, storing it with some difficulty in our already-loaded trunk. Now we were truly ready.

 

     Parking for the Cleveland Zoo was plentiful, with several lots nearby. Unfortunately, a large crowd and our late arrival resulted in the nearest lots being full, and we parked our minivan in a spot a marathon’s distance away.  I grabbed the Flyer, seated the kids, and began the trek. Ten minutes later we were still walking, and my kids were getting restless.

 

     “Are we there yet?”  It was Jack who asked, as Emily was momentarily distracted by the giant monkey statue that appeared along our path.

 

     “You see that monkey, Jack?  He made the mistake of asking his father that very same question.”

 

     Finally, we arrived at the entrance. I bought tickets, thankful my kids were still young enough to get the lowest rate.

That job done, we proceeded through the gate, grabbed a map, we began our tour.

 

     “Where should we begin?”

 

     Emily already had that figured out. “Let’s see the elephants!”

 

     Jack voted for the food court, but I figured seeing some animals was the best way to start. Maneuvering the wagon past several groups of onlookers, we got close enough to the elephant pen to watch as three giant beasts took turns grabbing food from some strategically placed trees. The largest reminded me of someone familiar.

 

     “Doesn’t that one look like your Aunt Ellen?”

 

     Emily grew indignant. “Daddy, it does not.”

 

     “You’re right; Aunt Ellen wouldn’t have let the other elephants grab any food.”

 

     We moved on from the elephant enclosure to the rhinos. There were a pair visible, the rhino mother standing next to her six-month-old baby. The latter was already taller than our minivan, a size differential Jack found fascinating.

“If he’s just six months old, how did he get so big?”

 

     “Presumably too many trips to the zoo food court - something you should think about at lunch.”

 

     Emily had a different question. “If that’s the mommy and the baby, where’s the daddy?”

 

     This was trickier territory for my animal-loving daughter. Pointing to a closed-off enclosure next to the outdoor pen, I said, “He’s probably inside there. I’m guessing he works from home like your daddy does.”

 

     I expected Emily’s version of her mother’s “are you crazy” look, but she seemed satisfied with my explanation. We continued moving onward.

 

     According to our map, we were headed straight for the Australian Adventure and its kangaroos, koalas, and wallabies. I had little background knowledge of any of these animals, though I vaguely remembered hearing an adult kangaroo could disembowel a human with its hind foot. In a rare moment of sanity, I decided to keep that fact to myself, keeping my observations on safer ground.

 

     “You see the pouch on the kangaroo mommy’s belly?  That’s where her babies hang out until they’re old enough to go to kangaroo college. They leave home once they’re ready, and the kangaroo mommy and daddy go off on vacation.”

 

     Jack looked at his sister, who immediately shook her head. My stories were suffering from a credibility problem, and I resolved to try harder as we continued our trek. It was near twelve as we finished in the land down under, and I decided to circle back around towards Jack’s favorite spot, the zoo food court.

 

     The food court at the Cleveland Zoo had undergone a significant upgrade in the past twenty years. Located disturbingly near the park’s veterinary center, the zoo’s previous eatery was limited to hotdogs and hamburgers, the former tasting of something not quite meat. Regarding the hamburgers, I never met anyone who would admit to having tried one.

 

     After numerous complaints and a few calls to 911, the Zoo brought in McDonald's and a number of other fast-food restaurants. All of these were placed in a new outdoor area by the zoo’s entrance.

 

     Reaching the food court, we waited patiently in the McDonald’s line behind a woman with six grown children. Finally reaching the front, we purchased three Big Mac meals along with orange juice drinks. The three of us ate at a fortuitously open table near the back of the dining area and planned our next move.

 

     Not able to read some of the larger words, Emily looked at the map’s pictures and declared, “I want to see the giraffes.”

 

     Jack didn’t even need to look. Beyond the food court, he had only one destination in mind. “I want to see the monkeys. They have funny butts.”

 

     As luck would have it, my children had chosen objectives in two opposite corners of the park. I looked at the map and made an executive decision. Turning to Jack and Emily, I traced our route.

 

     “We’re closer to the trail for the African Savannah and the giraffes. After the giraffes, we’ll swing around the lake and head to the primate building. Once there, Jack can resume his study of monkey derrieres.”

 

     I should have anticipated Jack’s next question. “What’s a derrair?”

 

     “It’s pronounced derriere – also known as a tushy, a keister, a backside, a fanny, and yes, a butt.”

 

     I would be in trouble when Alma heard those words coming from our children’s mouths, but I figured it was a father’s duty to teach their kids the essential things in life. If Alma still complained, I would remind her I refrained from saying ass.

 

     Our hamburgers finished, Jack and Emily got back in the wagon, and we set out for the Savannah, Jack chanting “monkey keister, monkey keister …” in a barely disguised whisper. Meant for his sister, Jack’s serenade was overheard by a young couple, both of whom were now casting disturbed looks our way as they moved past us on the boardwalk.

 

     “Someday,” I said, looking at the young woman, “this will be you.”  Ignoring my warning, the woman turned her attention away from Jack and began speaking to her companion, a conversation I suspected may have precluded the idea of any future children.

 

     We continued onward, monkey keisters and all, and reached the African Savannah. There we looked down on Emily’s giraffes, their heads poking through trees to reach what was left of that day’s meal. Even Jack was fascinated.

 

     “How long,” he asked, “does it take for their food to get down their necks and reach their stomachs?”

 

     For once, I couldn’t think of an answer. “Honestly, I have no idea.”

 

     After the giraffes, we saw lions and antelopes, thankfully not in the same pen, and then we moved on to see the monkeys.

 

     The trip to the Primate, Cat, and Aquatic Center was not for the faint of heart. That was true both literally and figuratively, as the last stretch included a long trek up a winding wooden ramp; the walk guaranteed to exhaust the hardiest of souls.

 

     I was in reasonably good shape, but I had never attempted the journey pulling a wagon and two children. Staring up at our eventual destination, I again reminded myself to thank Emily for remembering the Radio Flyer.

 

     Shortly past the third turn, I passed a father who had foolishly chosen to carry his three-year-old son upward to meet the gorillas. Exhausted, he flagged me down.

 

     “I’ll give you a hundred bucks if you let me use your wagon; fifty if you let my kid ride with yours.”  

 

     He looked like a decent guy, and I was genuinely sympathetic. With Emily and Jack seated, however, there were barely six inches of unfilled space in the Flyer. With no way to make things work, I begged off and continued onward.

 

     Somewhere past turn four, I began to pass other parents, at least two of whom cast predatory eyes on my wagon when they thought I wasn’t looking. Feeling delirious from the heat, I wondered if wagon-jacking was a thing.

 

     Around the fifth turn, I was rewarded with the first real glimpse of our eventual destination. Pulling Emily and Jack the last fifty feet to the door, I paused for a second to savor my victory.

 

     Unfortunately, one second was a second too long. In my exhaustion, I almost fell backward and landed in Jack’s tiny lap. Righting myself just in time, we continued forward and entered the Primate Center.

 

     I have to admit – it was glorious. Jack again began his chant, this time for good reason. There were monkey keisters to the left of us, monkey keisters to the right, big ones, small ones, pink and white.

 

     As I contemplated my transformation into some bizarro Dr. Seuss, we stepped further into the building for a closer look at Jack’s beloved monkeys. Further inside, we saw Lowland Gorillas, Howler Monkeys, and the oddly named Allen’s Swamp Monkey.

 

     After I read the last name, Emily asked, “It’s got your name, Daddy. Does that monkey belong to you?”

 

     “It used to, but I had to leave it behind when your mom insisted we move out of the swamp.”

 

     “You and mom used to live in a swamp?”

 

     “Just a small corner of one. The rest belonged to your mom’s family. Didn’t you always wonder why Grandma looks the way she does?”

 

     Alma would have shut me up right then, but if anyone could have been raised in a swamp, that person was Alma’s mother.    

 

     We continued past the depressed-looking White-faced Saki Monkeys before reaching the Black Howler Monkeys, nature’s warning to other primates never to use drugs. We watched the Howlers for ten minutes, Jack, Emily, and me, the three of us almost getting whiplash from watching the buggers fly back and forth across their enclosure.

 

     “So, this is what happens when you give monkeys PCP.”

 

     “What did you say, Daddy?”

 

     “Never mind. Maybe we should move on.” 

 

     As history will record, it was at that precise instant that Jack burped.

 

     Alma and I had often noted the percussive quality of our son’s burps. For sheer volume, they were comparable to the noise from many old-time heavy metal bands. A Jack belch at a church event once resulted in a nervous old woman almost hitting the floor - the poor lady was convinced our place of worship was under attack.

 

     To our relief, the truly loud burps seemed to end after Jack quit drinking milk from a bottle. Neither Alma nor I had witnessed an eruption since Jack started on solid foods.

 

     Thus today’s burp was a throwback event - a not-so-welcome remembrance of Jack’s newborn past. That would have been all it was if not for one other unfortunate aspect of Jack’s burps – no one ever believed they came from Jack.

 

     In a way, I understood. If I didn’t know better, I wouldn’t have believed it either. Intentionally or not, Jack’s latest burp occurred just as we passed three nuns clad in old-school black habits; the three were walking with two older women, presumably from the same parish.

 

     Having heard many of them before, I immediately recognized one of Jack’s unique gastric eruptions. Emily did as well, and she quickly turned away in disgust. Never failing to amuse himself, Jack simply laughed.

 

     The nuns were not in a laughing mood. With Jack’s belch hanging in the air, the black-habited nightmares from my Catholic school youth turned and fixed me with a nun glare I hadn’t experienced since grade school. The older women with them glared at me as well. Without nun training, however, their looks weren’t nearly as intimidating.

 

     I was trapped; an innocent man pronounced guilty based on an assumption. For support I looked at Jack, but he simply stared back in that innocent way most three-year-olds manage when they have accomplished something truly devious. Emily was still looking away. Whether she was still grossed out by her brother or had spotted some new and fascinating animal, I was indeed on my own - one lone man versus an angry horde of nuns.

 

     I considered smiling but remembered you should never smile at nuns. Like rabid dogs, they’ll invariably go straight for your throat. Even if I wanted to blame my son, I knew that would never fly. I was guilty in the nuns’ eyes and needed to show repentance. I tried but to no avail.

 

     “I’m sorry, sisters. I guess I drank that last Coke a little too fast.”

 

     The nun in front, likely the pack leader, continued to stare. After a solid ten seconds, she finally spoke.

 

     “I hope that’s not something you teach your children.”

 

     Alma always said that when pushed, I can exhibit a certain self-destructive tendency. That was the reason my knuckles always hurt in grade school.

 

     “Only on Thursdays, Sister. On Fridays, we work on farting. Trust me - you don’t want to be near our home on a Friday.”

 

     I had just insulted a nun. Had anyone ever done that and lived?  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jack and Emily watching this confrontation with quizzical expressions. My children knew something was going on – they just weren’t quite sure what that something was.

 

     As far as the nuns were concerned, all three were still staring. In their minds, I was sure to end up in hell or perhaps someplace below hell, assuming such a location even existed. If it didn’t, these nuns would create one just for me.

 

     After one last disgusted look, the black-robed gang finally stalked off, accompanied by their equally outraged companions. I took a deep breath and again faced Jack and Emily.

 

     “Alright guys, the storm has passed, so let’s keep moving. Jack, if you feel another burp coming on, try and give me a few seconds warning.”  Still unsure of the forces he unleashed, Jack simply nodded his agreement.

 

     We traveled quickly through the aquatic exhibit, stopping briefly to observe the piranha. Jack and Emily were fascinated by their many teeth.

 

     Before either could request a new pet, I said, “You think their teeth are cool now, but just imagine their visits to the dentist.”

 

     Emily knew a story when she heard one. “Dentists don’t see fish. They just see people.”

 

     “Good point, but imagine if they did.”

 

     We then came upon the big cats, primarily cheetahs, slowly patrolling their outdoor habitat. Watching the predators, Jack had a question.

 

     “When do the cheetahs eat?  They don’t have food around like the monkey or the elephants.”

 

     “They don’t feed the cheetahs until the people go home. Cheetahs are very shy eaters.”

 

     Having no wish to dwell on cheetah dietary habits – the thought brought to mind the nuns we just passed – the three of us continued out of the exhibit and again faced the ramp, this time headed downward.

 

     Looking at the downward slope, Emily had an idea. “If you just let us go, Jack and I could ride down the hill, and I could turn the wagon wheels when we reached the corners.”

 

     Jack was thrilled with his sister’s plan. As an adult pretending to be sane, I vetoed the idea and blamed my absent partner.

 

     “Do you remember your mom’s reaction when I let you ride your bike down the hill at the park?  Multiply that by twelve, and that’s only if she had a good day.”

 

     We moved down the ramp at a more measured pace, me pulling the wagon the entire way. Once at the bottom, we headed for the exit as Jack begged for one more trip to the food court.

 

     “Sorry, buddy, the zoo’s about to close. You wouldn’t want to hang out anyway. This is the time of the day staff starts looking for leftover kids to feed the lions.”

 

     “You’re kidding, right Daddy?”

 

     “Sure – but let me know if you spot any lions.”

 

     While Jack kept his eyes peeled for predators, we walked through the exit and made our way back to the minivan. Once there, I buckled in the kids, locked away our trusty Radio Flier, and headed for home. There we found Alma waiting for us, having been released early from her teacher in-service.

 

     The kids went in first while I stored the Flier in our garage and carried in the various items we brought as “just-in-case” extras for our trip. I then came in to greet Alma, who fixed me with a curious look.

 

     “The kids both said they had a great time. How did you hold up for the day?”

 

     “My right arm is now about three inches longer than my left. If you ignore that little peculiarity, I thought the day went pretty well.”

 

     “Why did Jack come in yelling about monkey keisters?”

 

     “I’m sure it was something he heard from one of the older boys – nothing he won’t forget in a day or two.”

 

     “What about the scary ladies in black that Emily mentioned?”

 

     Now I was in trouble. “You know Emily – she might have been daydreaming.”

 

     “She said they looked like the nuns she saw at church. She said Jack scared them with one of his burps. She also said you yelled at them.”

 

     “I never raised my voice. I very politely suggested they consider minding their own business.”

 

     Then Alma surprised me. Smiling, she stood up, walked to where I was standing, and kissed me on the lips.

 

     Sensing my confusion, she said, “Give ‘em hell, tiger.”

 

     My wife had a secret dark side. “To be honest, this wasn’t the reaction I was expecting.”

 

     “The nuns always scared me. I never could tell what they would do at any given moment.”

 

     “Now I’m worried - that’s what you always used to say about me.”

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     “Just never wear black, and you’ll be fine.”