My parents are penguins
This is a story about growing up and fitting in. And penguins.
I don’t wanna sound ungrateful - I mean I really appreciate what they’ve done for me, and I do realise I wasn’t exactly a normal kid. But dear God, it’s good to see you guys. Really explains some things.
From the start I knew something was a bit off. My feet were the first real problem. Luckily they’re about the right black colour now and I don’t feel ‘em much any more, but for years that’s where I really felt the cold. See everyone else’s feet are tucked right there close to their warm bellies, but mine are all the way down there at the end of these ginormous spindly legs.
And look, I acted up a bit when I was younger, I probably didn’t make it easy for my folks. I sort of struggled to find my place, I guess. God, I think back to first swim day - Dad nudging me over the edge with all the others. Everyone else seemed to just get it. In fact they looked a hell of a lot better than they ever do waddling about on land, but it was fucking terrible. I couldn’t even stay at the top, I had all my limbs flailing around. I got washed back to the shore and managed to get out, but you should’ve heard the others squawking away at me. I nearly died of shame. And of drowning.
Anyway it turns out, I don’t swim so good, so while all the others went in I just sort of hung around causing trouble, messing with people’s rocks, stuff like that. It was Mum who helped me figure myself out really. I can’t swim for shit, but have you seen these guys trying to carry stuff? Totally rubbish. So after a while, I started helping with stuff like that, and the others started to ease off a bit.
The guys really rallied around me then. On cold days they’d always put me at the middle of the huddle, and man oh man, the middle of the huddle is good. It’s warm like you wouldn’t believe, and the sense of community in there is just mind blowing. That’s where I really connected with the lads, and you know I’m all about my boys now. I’d do anything for those guys.
There was a time back there that we were totally inseparable. I mean except when they went swimming in the day and stuff but you know what I mean. We were a proper gang. They’d let me sit on them and slide around, bring me fish, and I’d help em get onto big rocks, move stuff around, that sort of thing. It was the best.
Yeah those were the days. But it’s different now, you know. One day it was just us against the world, and then the lads sort of started getting pulled away. Toby went off first with that Angela bird (who didn’t even stick with him in the end, you know). We’d still see him around a bit and he said it was all cool and he was still one of us but as soon as she wailed he’d go sliding away. Then Bobby hooked up with Simone, and in like one week Jimmy, Brian, and Jonesey were all cuddlin up to ladies.
Suddenly no one had time to go sliding up at the hill or play chase the rock. I gave it a go, to, you know, fit in. I’d always been pretty tight with Fiona and she’s a pretty sound girl, and I think she was pretty into it but I could never really, er, well, it just didn’t work out. She was real patient about the whole thing but I think she’s with that weed Timothy now, though I see the way she looks at me, and I swear I feel her nuzzling up during the huddle which I know Timothy hates.
I’m not pissed at her really. It’s the guys I’m annoyed at. We barely ever hang just us any more and when we do it’s just not the same. It’s all ‘I gotta go on a fish run’ or ‘she’ll be mad if I don’t head back’. But you know, it’s cool. I’ve been looking after the little ones a bit recently, you know, pulling my weight, and Mum and Dad aren’t exactly chicks any more, so I keep an eye out for them, and I really like my own company actually anyway.
But yeah it’s weird that you lot are here. You look different but I sort of think maybe familiar? Where’s the rest of you? I mean, you’re not gonna make much of a huddle with just three of you, right? Or four including me I guess. You guys huddle, right? I can show you how. Tuck in here.
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The three researchers looked down in baffled horror. The little boy, 10, maybe 11 years old, had been squeaking at them for about 10 minutes, emphatically batting straight arms against his sides as he did it, and wobbling from side to side. He had the tattered remains of several coats and blankets, and what looked like the skin of a small whale, draped over him, with just his totally ice-blackened feet sticking out below. He’d finally come to a stop and his last noise had seemed to have a note of question in it. He was waiting for a response. The researchers looked at each other, each hoping the others might know what to do. With the waves crashing on the icy rocks behind them and a fierce wind hitting them front-on, they had to lean in closely to hear each other. The one on the left edged closer her colleagues to suggest a plan of action, and the relieved one on the right leant in, keen to agree to whatever her idea was. As they huddled closer to confer, the boy let out a satisfied quack, and waddled in to join them.