Hear the pitter patter? Hear the chitter chatter? No. You hear only silence. The silence of a quiet house, of a lonely house. See the child's room, with toys on shelves collecting dust?  It's an empty room, a sad room. No little head rests on the undisturbed pillow. And there, beyond another door, see the barren crib? The colorful mobile above it dances an unmoving step to unheard music, and a yellow teddy bear waits patiently for his playmate to return.

These are the sweet sounds of silence. And they tell of rest and relaxation, of productivity and accomplishment. But also they hint of pain, of the aching and longing of a father's heart. Where are my little girls? Where are my monkeys?

Ahh yes. They are in Florida, but only for another day. In the morning they return. Then you shall hear the pitter patter and the chitter chatter, and you shall hear the crying, and you shall hear that crying in the midnight hour and again at dawn, and you shall wonder why, dear god why, you missed them so much. Because it's true: absence does make the heart grow fonder.

But once that absence is over...  Watch out, boy. Because the monkeys are back. And there's gonna be trouble. But never fear. Daddy's here. He's handled these monkeys before, and he can do it again. Maybe even with one hand tied behind his back.

Or maybe not.


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