The Hose

Creating a healthy sense of self loathing is good for everyone and better when you are the traumatizer rather than the traumatizee 
 
When I was little, I was equally cute and crazy. As such I was capable of inspiring a wide range of emotions. When combined with mother’s apparent tourette’s syndrome it would lead to some interesting results. 
 
Periodically, mother would spy me playing with GI Joes and stop and stare. After some time I would look up and she’d quickly turn away. It was quick but in my mind’s eye I always imagined she was looking at me with mild disappointment. Grief stricken, I’d look down…and then it’d come…in a high shrieking voice with chin up and some sick mix of pride:
 
“MONKEY!”   

Yes her declarations were sporadic. But the impact of her cruelty hung over my head everyday in exactly the same way the smell of fried plantains clung to my jeans.
 
Thankfully, along with the loud smelly mess came the Bumpasaurus and I was allowed a reprieve. No longer was I the victim of the vicious monkey chant, but in turn it was now left for Bump, and really he deserved the title more. As a toddler he sucked his toes happily and seemed to have arms longer than his legs. Of course even this minor happiness would be taken from me. My maternal uncles and aunts, young enough to never take themselves or anyone else too serious took to calling us both “monkey boy” and even developed something of a theme song, “mon KEEEY BOOOOY! Mon KEEY BOOY”
 
After some time, we both got over it. Whenever someone yelled “Monkey Boy”, one or both of us would look up and reply as though someone had not said something really offensive. Just once, either bump or I should have had the courage to say something like “You wouldn’t call us that if we were black!”…that would have fixed it…maybe…probably not…
 
Like avictims of sexual abuse or a kidnapping victim we soon sided with our oppressors. Rather than break the cycle, we immediately began looking for our own victims to dehumanize. Our younger cousins all fell victim at one time or another. It didn't always stick,  besides “monkey girl” is far meaner than it ever was funny. That is until came the most ultimate monkey boy, or as the Bumparsaurus refers to him Monkey Boy 1 or MB1 for short.
 
Dude, MB1 is on a different level. His arms are so gangly that when he walks he comes off like an elephant trying to put a condom on with his nose. He might be the messiah of monkey boys. I suppose that would then make the Bumpasaurs his John the Baptist, announcing his arrival. On a good day, I might get to be Abraham but more than likely I'm probably just Jonah sitting inside a fat whale begging for repentence.