And I hear the comedic human duo of Cheech Marin and Tommy Chong have also reunited. It’s a wonderful time to be alive.
While the human duo performing again is good news, the return of retired singing stuffed primates Cheech and Chong is the BIG news at Camp Whip. Their return was sudden, unexpected and joyous.
It went down like this: A few nights back Emerita, 11, wore an earnest look into the kitchen. She was somewhere between anxious and sad.
“Daddy, what’s that song you used to sing to me at night after prayers?”
I paused for a spell, reflecting. What forgotten nonsense had I imprinted on our daughter this time?
“Wait … the animal fair song …The Animal Fair?”
A flash of recognition lit up Emerita’s face.
“Yes! That’s the one! Can you sing it again after prayer-time tonight?”
“Hell, yeah,” I blurted, mindful of our 1-curse-word-per-sentence rule. I scanned that zone of my brain that stores lyrics and passwords.
The song that my dad sang to me and Grampy sang to dad came back to me. I had sung it every night to older daughter Geni, then subjected Emerita to the same noise pollution when she was old enough to appreciate noise pollution.
’Twas the night of the animal fair
All the birds and beasts were there
And the old baboon, by the light of the moon
Was combing his auburn hair
And the monkey… he got drunk
And sat on the elephant’s trunk
And the elephant sneezed
And fell to his knees
And what became of the monk’, the monk’
WHAT BECAME OF THE MONK?!
That last line was always sung in a deep hushed tone suggesting the elephant was certainly looking at manslaughter charges, while the monkey, had it lived, would be facing misdemeanor public intoxication charges at the very least.
I glanced at Emerita expecting a broad smile. Instead, she was clenching her jaws and blinking off tears.
“What’s wrong, Emma? You realized you’re not a fan of the of the song after all?” I asked, leaning in to hug her.
“No … how much I miss that song!” she said through tears.
My daughter got a first-hand show of just how fast life travels. One night she’s comfy in bed, hearing her dad deliver a slightly different nightly version of a silly century-old yarn, then seemingly in a blink she’s on the cusp of entering sixth grade. What had been a cheerful part of her routine had become an almost forgotten memory. She was all about restoring her routine.
When I first sang the song to her older sister, it was just Daddy with backup from meowing cats — meowing for me to stop. Then one night while kneeling at Geni’s bedside surveying the throng of stuffed animals in all directions, I decided the Night of the Animal Fair should be performed by actual animals.
I spotted the stubby brown chimpanzee I had mailed to her in the Philippines years earlier. Next to the open-armed chimp was the taller, leaner pink monkey with a tail as long as its body.
I lifted them from their perch and faced them toward a grinning Geni. I danced them around the covers which was actually a stall while I came up a name for our new recruits. The first funny duo who came to mind was …
“Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for own jungle-jammin’, no-vanilla-gorilla, simp-chimps, funky-monkeys … Cheech and Chong!”
“Which is which?” Geni giggled.
“Uh, Cheech is the pink … no wait! Cheech is the tailless brown one … the chimp. Chong is the pink monkey with tail.”
Said tail was suitable for suspending Chong from various lights and furniture around her bedroom. And somehow Geni always traced the abduction/suspension back to me. My sentence was another scolding.
The monkeys’ tour lasted years longer than David Lee Roth’s. With Vegas consistency they performed the song nearly uninterrupted and with various dance moves. The song’s last word was the signal word for the tickle attack.
One day, like her dolls before, demand just kind of slipped away with no announcement. The buffoon primates went silent.
Geni got older; Emerita came along during the Blizzard of 2015 with the same passion for primates as her sister. When she got old enough to appreciate ape vaudeville, she inquired about the roles of those hibernating monkeys.
I thought of Jake and Elwood, those Blues Brothers who got the band back together!
Cheech and Chong — joined by Gala the dopey horse who spoke exactly like television’s Mr. Ed the talking horse — began performing nightly for Emerita at the coveted time slot: right after prayers and right before deep slumber.
And then, without warning or good reason, there was no further chimp chatter.
A couple years went by without anyone pressing the Mexican and stoned-sounding funny monkeys to perform.
Until the recent night in the kitchen when Emerita got tripped up by nostalgia. She wasn’t ready to part with that part of life.
“Where are those damn monkeys? They have some singing to do,” I announced.
Emerita galloped upstairs before official bedtime and bellowed down, “Pr-a-a-a-yer ti-i-i-ime!”
Her mom and I joined her in her bedroom, as I turned on the ceiling black light — to set the mood of the comeback tour’s opening night.
Sure enough, right after prayers, Cheech and Chong climbed atop a pillow and launched into a rousing version of “The Animal Fair.” The monkeys interrupted themselves for good-natured jabbing throughout the song, then concluded with a surprise tickle assault on the sole audience member.
Through the purple haze, I saw Emerita blinking as a couple tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Oh-oh. I knew my voice was horrid, but now it’s horrid and rusty,” I whispered. “I’m sorry it’s so bad …”
“No! I’m crying because I missed this song,” she replied.
“So these are tears of happiness?”
She nodded, this time with a grin
It occurred to me it was about more than the song. Because musically, the song even sung with a Southern twang is no “Freebird.” The cute monkeys are a connection to her mom and sister and the Philippines. And the song connects her to Daddy and his lineage who embrace animal uprisings with song — in this case performed by a man who shouldn’t even hum, never mind sing.
Yes, it’s good these nuts have left retirement to return to the bed/stage. They and their self-heckling through “The Animal Fair’s” latest rendition are in demand and booked … right up until the night they aren’t.
Like her sister Geni, Emerita will not find Daddy’s impromptu banter and tap-dancing monkeys funny forever. Even if I do.
C&C may end up in a closet until the day they are introduced to the next generation.
Until then, audience and performers are rewarded with a content sleeping ovation.