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I’ve decided to, here and there, write about various people who have made great impact upon this short life I’ve thus lived. I shall try to write them in order of succession—for example, I write today about Eedie the Monkee because he came about when I was very young.

Eedie came into my life one fateful, stormy day back in (I believe) April of 1996. I was at Aaron’s house, and outside was a raging monster of a storm, bending the trees nearly in half, thundering thunderously (ironically enough), lightning abounding, and I, crying ferociously, begging Aaron’s brother to turn off the television (I thought it would explode if lighting struck just right). I called to get a ride home, and my good sisters came to pick me up in the old, crankity Toyota. Upon entering the rain-pelted car, I was presented with a new, warm, furry friend who instantly calmed my troubled soul. The young monkee had a brown cowboy hat (not unlike Indiana Jones’), sported a brown vest (adorned with sheriff’s badge), a plaid undershirt, a belt with a silver buckle, and black pants. He became Eedie, sheriff of the land of Dingleberry (it wasn’t named Dingleberry until seventh grade, of course, when his trusty deputy, Roobix, entered the scene).

Eedie was instantly for me as Woody was for Andy in Toy Story (except I didn’t get any “replacement” friend—though in third and fourth grade, Cheeks and Schweetheart were played with much more due to their mobile traits to be stuffed in a backpack and hauled off to school every day). Eedie embodied a spirit of comfort when I was weak and a spirit of imagination for anytime else. More tears than I’d like to remember have been cried into the loved and now dilapidated stuffing, and not just at times of physical rainstorms (though a good thirty or forty out of a hundred or so gallons I’d attribute to thunderings and lightnings).

When I felt friendless, Eedie was always there to be my friend. He accompanied me on countless adventures—some to the Golden Land, some to South America, others to the jungles of Asia or the deserts of Africa, some to the office of a radio station, some to a Star Crunch Factory, and still others to the unexplored terrains of Mars and other such nameless places.

He slowly was loved into ruin and at other times unloved—by my brother, of course, not me—such as when he stole Eedie and began pounding his head against the railing so much so that one of his eyes fell out. My brother, after the fact, realized that smacking another’s head against a railing and popping out his or her eye is quite rude, and perhaps even sinful, so he helped me glue Eedie’s eye back in in repentance. Eedie’s eyes would never be the same, however; to this day they are clouded with cataracts and impossible to heal.

Eedie says Eedie twenty four hours a day

He doesn’t pick his nose, but he eats Cheerios

And he eats them right away.

Hey!

–Eedie Says Eedie, by Eedie the Monkee

Above is a song written by Eedie himself that he would often sing in my younger years. I’ve really no idea why he sang it—perhaps to illustrate the fact that he does not have a dirty habit of picking his somewhat large nose (in retrospect, Roobix, his deputy, has an abnormally large nose—one which I can actually stick my fingers into—so I don’t think Eedie had anything to worry about). At any rate, such was life—Eedie and I were somewhat inseparable to the extent that I asked the ticket officer at a local theatre before going in to watch Jurassic Park: Lost World (wow—that means I’m old) if I could “bring my monkey in” without paying. He said it’d be all right.

Though I am grown, Eedie still has a place in my vastly expanding life. For years he has been used as a pillow, though these days, because of his frail state, I tend to use a real pillow and simply hold him while sleeping—yes, I am not afraid to say that I’ll still sleep with my stuffed animals. Eedie has been here for me through a great deal of ordeals; should I dispose of him simply because it’s not socially acceptable? I think not. Eedie is a good friend, and he always will be. He inspired a comic that was originally drawn in seventh grade, but proceeded again to eighth grade, and now is a monthly happening in the West Jordan JagWire, as illustrated below. Eedie has lost his hat, vest, badge, and belt, but remains Sheriff of Dingleberry (or of Aberswyth), tried and true, proud and defiant (slaying the giant), and, of course, seizing the day, though somewhat frailer, which is why he hired Roobix to be his deputy.

A Brief History of Eedie:

Eedie was born October 31st, 1990, and is now eighteen years old (though monkeys age faster than humans, so he was always older than me). He lived happily with his parents in the Golden Land until they were both killed by poachers in 1993. He made his way over to the United States and was eventually adopted into my family. His brother, Jo, and his uncle, Al, would eventually follow. He chose to continue to serve as sheriff instead of go on a mission as his brother and adopted cousin did; his brother, Jo, served a full-time mission when he was twelve (the age monkeys go on missions) to Salt Lake City and surrounding areas (including Dingleberry), and his adopted cousin, Shweetheart, served a part-time mission in California with his companion, Sister Cunningham, until he was honorably released and sent back home when the California air was giving him skin problems. Eedie has always been an advocate of those against poachers, and would always eat a poacher if he could get his hands on one (seeing as how bad guys, including poachers, taste good, whereas good guys taste bad, which is how he determines if people are good or bad in his reign as sheriff). He continues his sheriffing to this day with his trusty sidekick, Roobix. His living family consists of: Jo (brother), Al (uncle), Mary (aunt), Cheeks (cousin—who somehow laid eggs when I was in third grade, one of which hatched into Bozz—I don’t know what that makes Bozz to Eedie family-wise), Shweetheart (cousin), and Bonobo (cousin).