#27 Primate Study
on gorillas, homesickness, and gifts from my dad
In 2019, Jenny and Rose started writing to each other about creativity, sobriety, and relationships. In P.S. Draft in Progress, we’re inviting you to pull up a chair and join our (very human, always AI-free) correspondence.
I melted over the photo of Little Rose and her horse and certainly identified with a life measured in obsessions. While you performed deep dives into penguin species, I was a card-carrying primate fanatic. Ten-year-old Jenny’s bedroom door boasted a dot-matrix sign stating SHHH! Future primatologist at work. Also, I was very cool. Obviously.
And a HECK YES to Sprink’s assertion: We need to feel we are making our way through the world, not just existing in it. My resume as a Jen-of-All-Trades includes ventriloquist (insert creepy Howdy Doody dummy), singer/ songwriter, cartoonist, entomologist, detective with an adorable briefcase, and so much more. What some might call a hobby-hopper with a short attention span, I call well-rounded. I mean, do you have any other friends that can solve minor crimes without moving their mouths?
While it’s hard to narrow my current fixations down to one, I’m leaning into your archivist theme. Ever since I wrote to you about my life in letters, I’ve been spending time in those epistolary piles. My origins as an obsessor (and an artist) were hard to miss….
As an only child, my Dad has no shortage of ways to entertain himself. I’ve never seen him without an ink pen and I’ve never known him to resist white space. Church programs? Paper placemats from Edo Japanese? Junk mail? ALL blank canvases.
For my recent Father’s Day lunch with Dad, I arrived with a show-and-tell: the letters he’d written (well…drawn) to me at my very first sleep-away camp. My older sister loved that place and still tells stories of smoking cigarettes with the counselors and engaging in all sorts of early 90s debauchery. I, on the other hand, was a 5th grade homebody and felt physically ill from the moment my parents dropped me off. I recall sobbing in my bunk while requesting visits to the super cute male nurse. Spencer—if you’re out there, I still love you.
My parents softened my homesickness with letters, but it was Dad’s that had survived 35 years of moves and garage purges:
Dad seemed pleased that his efforts stood the test of time, and we shared a laugh over his irreverent cartoons. Long before taking lessons, Dad’s inner-artist insisted he create. At 65, he took his first painting class. At 81, he attends two art groups weekly and has quite the knack for capturing Florida’s flora and fauna. Mom won’t let him hang the reptile paintings in the house, so he gives them all away.
It’s no coincidence that, in the box with Dad’s letters, I came across the illustrated vows I’d given to B on the morning of our 2007 wedding. Yes-in addition to actual words, I’d drawn dozens of tiny cartoons to illustrate our love story. I mean…if ever there was an occasion for mixed media!
Like our innumerable obsessions, Dad’s ranged far and wide. But what struck me more than the drawings or the costumes or the fossils were the way those things ignited him—his ability to see the potential in something as unassuming as a paper place-mat. When I invest in a creative outlet deeply (and I mean REALLY get my hands dirty) it feels like I’m flying. It’s not unlike my drinking days, but instead of hangovers, I’m rewarded with a made thing.
And I can’t leave you hanging on the primate front! Young Jenny actually DID land a job at a zoo. It involved retail, not gorillas, but every lunch break was spent on a bench in Primate Canyon. To this day, I de-stress by conducting job searches at nearby animal sanctuaries. I’m currently manifesting the following listing:
WANTED: Caregiver for orphaned baby gorillas. Responsibilities include rocking them to sleep, dressing them in tiny hand-knitted hats, and feeding them warm bottles. High pay. Excellent benefits. Childhood affinity for primates preferred.
A girl can dream.
P.S. Wanna send snail mail for the rest of the summer and resume this online exchange in the fall? I’m jonesing for a digital detox.
P.P.S. My audio recording of today’s letter includes a poem about gorillas and corn dogs from my forthcoming collection. Enjoy🎧🦍🌽🌭
I know you remember the zoo director was a friend, and we went behind the scenes with a banana to interact with a female lowland gorilla. Laid back, and unimpressed by our presence, she found me worthy of the effort to casually flip a piece of poo at me. She missed!