My four-year-old son was out of control. He tried to climb EVERYTHING, he made crazy yelling noises all the time, he had about a ten-word vocabulary, and he slipped out of his room every night to sleep with his pet jungle cats.

And it was all his grandpa's fault.

I should have seen it coming the day my son was born. I held him in my arms, showed him to my father-in-law, and said, "Hey, Dad, ain'tcha proud?" And he just twinkled his eyes at me, and ran his hand through his dreadlocks, and grunted bemusedly to himself.

I should have seen it coming the day he took my son, at two years old, to an indoor jungle-themed rock-climbing park.

I should have seen it coming the day they started holding monkey-noise-only conversations.

I should have seen it coming the day he brought over the leopard, the jaguar, and the gorilla and assured us that he'd known their parents, and they would make GREAT pets.

Really, I should have seen it coming the day I married Tarzan's daughter.