Daddy Volunteer for the Zoo Field Trip

 The PDZenani, a female mandrill, looks over her new surroundings in the
Primate, Cat, and Aquatics Building at the Cleveland Metroparks Zoo.
 The prominent and colorful facial striations turned out not to be the most
fascinating anatomical feature of the mandrills to the third graders.

My youngest, Nat, was in the third grade when I was magically volunteered (as devoted husbands and fathers sometimes are) to be Daddy Helper for the spring field trip to the zoo. Since the other parent volunteers were women (a fact which will figure prominently later in  this story) it was daunting for me to assume any authority among the youngsters. They were by this age conditioned to hear only a woman's voice during school hours. Ensuing events, which I sincerely regret, proved otherwise . 

A charming day, replete with warm sun, safe travel, relatively controlled young passengers who stayed seated as instructed and who thanked the driver as they got off the yellow bus and walked carefully to the meeting spot near the ticket area. Our best strategy was to stay together as a group so that no portion of us got too far ahead or too far behind. Parent volunteers played border collies and kept the herd in a bunch by rerouting the wayward and the stragglers and returning the avant garde to the mother ship. 

For the most part the kids were pretty good. No fighting, no screaming, occasional running--all in all better than I had expected. As the morning wore on and the Rain Forest gradually lost its appeal, chatter surfaced about, "When are we going to see some animals?" By animals I think they meant bellowing beasts. The kids were tiring out from all the walking. Scientific explanations quickly proved "boring" and the buzz among the boys reverted to video games and among the girls to "tween" magazines.

With lunch came the promise of going to see some "animals" in the afternoon. Their spirits picked up following the sandwiches and milk, but since the rest of the zoo involved considerably more walking, and the prospect of "bellowing beasts" was heartily thrashed by seeing lions curled up snoozing at the far ends of their cages to escape the afternoon sun, the little buggers grew more irritable and given to more "boring." 

Finally, after about an hour of wandering through most of the outdoor animal areas, we came upon the indoor display for the primates. Like the lions our munchkins were glad to be out of the sun and in some air conditioning. We could easily all get a good view as there was plenty of glass for us to line up along. I tried to get them interested in the differences of the species housed in each section as we passed. 

We had come upon the mandrills--one of whom was "up close and personal," within a foot of the glass and staring straight at me. I called to my laggards, "Hey, kids come look at these guys with the colorful striations on their cheeks." However, as I hinted in the caption of the picture above, the face was not the only colorful feature of the mandrills. 

As the children approached the glass where I was going to knowledgeably and authoritatively discuss the pronounced features of the mandrill's facial cheeks, another mandrill, climbing a nearby limb, showed off  its huge posterior cheeks, glowing with a polished redness heretofore found only on fire engines or teachers' apples. The kids found it impossible to ignore the errant mandrill to come see mine. "Wow! What an ass!" they screamed as more and more scrambled to see what was the fuss.  

Not only the children but my sister volunteers and the third grade teacher herself came by to see what got the children so excited. Without saying a single instructive word I turned to wander away from my mandrill who, to his credit, kept looking at me as I departed, perhaps himself sensing the lost learning opportunity.

Across the room was another variety of primate of whom one was grooming another near the glass as I approached. Through my mind I practiced what I would say about the social nature of primate life where one was picking bugs from the fur of the other's back and how this behavior solidified a group or family consciousness among the members of that species. 

The hubbub at the mandrill display had died down thanks to the efforts of the teacher and the other volunteers. We would soon be leaving the zoo they explained. Now with only one chance left to restore my dignity I again called out to the kids, "I'd like you to see this." 

The words left my lips and the grooming ceased. The male primate who had been being groomed turned to face the glass. From his crotch began unrolling what I thought was some cheroot about nine inches long and half an inch in diameter. Only it was not a cheroot.

I could hear the kids crossing the room to see again what Mr. Manista wanted to show them. 

The bus ride home was relatively quiet. Some of the kids fell asleep. Nobody talked to me on the way back to the school or after as the kids reassembled in their classroom. 

I imagined the conversations at the dinner tables of the third graders who had been to the zoo: "The other helpers were moms. But we had this guy too, Nathaniel's daddy. He wasn't much until the last building where he showed us some of the coolest stuff." 

Fortunately the phone didn't ring the entire evening.