When I was a child, I don't remember my parents taking me to the zoo. Mom was too busy pushing out babies and dad was engaged in work or looking for work. There wasn't the time nor the money for a ticket. I do recall being an early teenager and my aunt, who wasn't much older than me, would stop by our house, pile in some kids and we would head to John Ball Park Zoo in our hometown of Grand Rapids.
That place was simply amazing! It was another world full of the bizarre and outlandish. Around each bend, within each building something new and foreign and unexpected and real lurked and breathed. The animals were exotic and exciting to see.
The first stop past the ticket booth was a large pond filled with waterfowl, ducks, geese and usually flamingos. I had to read the signage to learn the names of all these critters that I had never seen before, except for the flamingos, of course. Not only birds and animals from foreign lands but local fauna that I had only heard about like turkeys, swans and assorted geese.
The Zoo brought the external world that I had only read about and watched on television, into my reality. It broke through my Autistic tightly closed walls of miniscule awareness. It made the outside world real. Flamingos really did exist. Camels, monkeys, ostrich and elephant were all three dimensional, living breathing beings not just pictures on a screen. There indeed existed warthogs and zebras, lions and tigers and bears. Foreign countries like Australia, Nairobi, Kenya and Africa were indeed, actual places not just shapes on the map. I could have spent entire days doing nothing but sitting and observing, except that my aunt had limited time and there were so very many people clustered about. I could have done without the people.
When I became of driver age and had my own car, I would grab my available younger siblings and we did indeed spend many days and hours at the Zoo. I learned that rainy days and week days were the times that were less crowded. As in most things, less crowd equals more enjoyment for this Aspie. I loved the freedom of being able to go places and stay for as long as I wanted like that. The zoo enriched and enlarged my miniscule perspective and grasp of things in my external environment.
Throughout my adult, being a mother years, I was grateful that my partner and I were able to visit many fascinating zoos scattered around the US from the kangaroo zoo in Kentucky to the huge Cincinnati zoo with polar bears, to the smaller, name forgotten place that had Howler Monkeys that completed enthralled me with their distinct yowlings. I loved them so much, as did my Eldest son, that we both became quite adapt at imitating their raucous howls. The in-person educational value and the pure enjoyment I received is immeasurable. Zoos provided a refuge and a sanctuary, a top-rated schooling and tons of enjoyment.
As I became an adult, well, actually a later aged adult, zoos were more scattered as I lived in places that required a travel of an hour or more. My want and willingness to drive in big cities caused considerable stress. I haven't been able to drop by to see the animals much. My perspective or maybe it's my empathy and viewpoint changed as well. The last time I stopped at the Portland Zoo, I noticed animals that were nervous, stressed out and very unhappy. The mountain goat that just stood there looking afraid. The elephants that appeared to be trapped in an environment too small that they could not escape from. I had to stop looking at the animal's faces because I was seeing pain more often than naught. I felt conflicted inside. Whilst I enjoyed my experience of marveling at these magnificents, at the same time my feelings of their grief and sadness loomed large. It was no longer fun for me because they were suffering, and I could readily see it.
My heart turned sad. The happy events of my youth began to fade. I don't know if I can ever feel positive emotions if I were to visit a zoo again.
They do have an aquarium an hour away that I have been to many times. It is different there. The fish and eels, sharks and rays that swim about in the monstrous, walk-through aquarium do not seem distressed in the least. Sure, I have witnessed the occasional sea creature who looked sluggish or appeared to be ailing, but they were rare, few and far between. I am not alarmed or saddened to peer into the tanks there. Maybe the fish adapt easier to their manmade constructs and require less intervention than their on-land counterparts.
Outside of the aquarium, on the grounds there are a number of habitats for otters and seals, waterfowl and mighty winged ones. In those places I am more likely to sense distress. It's as if the habitats all fail to provide the breadth and depth and width that these animals require. I do appreciate the rehabilitative facilities and it's wonderful to see a critter on the mend and being cared for. That is much more common than I previously noted. The pelican with the broken beak is a permanent fixture as is the eagle with the damaged wing. I do see the positives as some facilities have become more of a marriage of exotic animals and rehabilitation specialists. There seems to be more humanity, more awareness and consideration given to the care, housing and feeding of enclosed creatures. That part is heartwarming to see, much needed and appreciated.
Sometimes I miss the ignorance of youth when a pretty zebra was just a pretty zebra and not a sad, constricted, stress-laden foible of man put on for show.
The lions were more majestic when I didn't see the thick glass, notice their neurotic pacing, or realize that being enclosed within a plaster clay arena devoid of any green or trees or running water or room to roam was detrimental and damaging to their sense of wellbeing.
Yeah, it was easier to see them when I didn't think to care or to look or to see. But know this, I will be forever grateful for the respite and the knowledge and the gentle way that these animals showed me that there was indeed a world outside of my self, and it was broad and diverse and magical in it's variety.
I love zoos. I Loved Zoos.
