Ape Community Offended By Evolution Theory

I was driving to the neighborhood grocery store the other morning. It was one of those crisp, clear February days that floats a cartoon bubble of steam with your every exhalation. I passed a group of youngsters waiting for the school bus, all bundled up in their winter shorts and t-shirts, their Pop Tart and Mountain Dew-fueled brains eager for another four-hour crack at academia, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. You know you’re getting old when you cast a critical eye toward the youth of today, but you also know you have mellowed with age when you can recall and laugh at the fads and quirks of your own childhood.

For example, I can remember leaving my parents’ house in the Midwestern winter, on my way to school, and I would actually be wearing a coat. No shit! A coat, stocking cap and mittens! What a sight I must have been, all swaddled up against the cold. I’m sure it was embarrassing for my parents, but they bit their tongues and let me make a fool of myself.

When dining at a restaurant I’ll notice a young fellow of, oh, maybe 40 years of age, sitting at a neighboring table with his wife and kids. His baseball cap, with the bill pointed down the back of his neck, will conjure images of my own youthful foible of wearing a baseball cap with the bill shading my eyes. What a silly stunt! And get this: when I entered the house, or a movie theater or restaurant, I removed my cap and walked around bareheaded! How dumb was that?

The intoxication of fashion gets the best of us. Coats in the winter and hats off inside; we were real beauts, we were!

I came across an old photo of myself that nearly turned me to stone. I was mortified. I can feel my face flushing right now as I think about it. In the photo, I was in my late teens, maybe early twenties, and I was wearing pants that covered my ass. Really! You couldn’t see my underwear, you couldn’t see my butt crack, nuthin’! My whole ass was covered! Little did I know that a Kodak Instamatic would provide a freeze frame of shame decades later.

I distinctly remember leaving the house one evening—heading off to a basketball game with my buddies—and my mom said, "Are you going to leave the house with your ass all covered up like that?"

I rolled my eyeballs and plaintively explained, "Mom, all the guys are wearin’ ‘em this way. I don’t wanna look like a dork."

"If the other boys jumped off a bridge, would you follow?"

She had me there, but when my buddies and I piled into that car with our asses covered, shoes tied, wearing our coats, hats and gloves, I felt a real sense of belonging. Peer pressure exerts incredible gravitational pull. Even though I knew I was embarrassing my entire genealogy, I felt I was one of the crowd. The shamefulness melted away and was replaced by the warm fuzziness of inclusion.

And my nuts weren’t clinking like ice cubes in a cocktail glass.

There’s clearly a quality control glitch in the Intelligent Design Department, but that’s no reason for slandering the apes.