Mailboxes

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    This childhood memory isn’t mine, technically however, I am responsible.  Around the family dinner table it seems to have become something of a legend, which is entirely beyond me because this wasn’t the first time something along these lines occurred when I was around.  It is a childhood memory of our son’s, he was about three at the time.  Our daughter, also, seems to have this particular incident as a childhood memory, but she hadn’t been born yet.  I am not sure how that works actually.

    As mentioned, my son was three or so years old, my parents had graciously taken him for five days as my wife and I spent some time alone in Mazatlan, lying on the beach and, well doing what married people with no children around do.  During our vacation I had managed to obtain a few firecrackers, m-80s’ and other such fun things.

    Now, I would like to point out that at this stage in my life (24, something like that) I was a responsible, mature adult, I had a beautiful wife (still have the same one and she is even more beautiful today), a child, a mortgage payment, and a respectable career.  I just want to make sure everyone understands what a mature, imitation adult I was, am.  What a mature, imitation adult I am.

    On with the memory, my parents picked us up at the airport, oddly, quite happy to see us, they had forgotten how much energy a three year old male has.  Seems they had something of a difficult time keeping up with the little guy.  Upon arrival at my parents' we showed everyone our souvenirs.  When I got to the firework type things we had smuggled across the border my younger brothers, both in their early teens at the time, eyes lit up.  My mother, for reasons completely beyond me, had a look of horror on her face, my wife cringed and covered her face with her hands, and my father looked at the ceiling shaking his head.  I have no idea why these three had such reactions.  I mean, I am a totally responsible adult; I am a dad for crying out loud.  My son looked to his uncles for an explanation of the sudden tension.  Together they blurted out, “C’mon, let’s go out and light ‘em off.”  I acquiesced to their desires; I mean what is a big brother for?

    The remainder of the story will be told from a child’s viewpoint, my son’s actually.  I will be referred to as ‘you’ or ‘Dad’, which hardly seems appropriate to me because there are some gross inaccuracies in his version.

*****

    “Remember when we blew that beer can up?  It went about 30 feet into the air and was shredded, that was pretty cool Dad.”

    “Yes that was very cool, shrapnel flying through the neighborhood, you’re lucky someone didn’t lose an eye,” mother and grandma in stereo.

    Me, “Yeah, it’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye you know.”

    “And that whiffle ball, who would have thought we could make it go that far with some firecrackers, good job Dad that was neat.”

    “Simple physics son, simple physics.”

    “And then you (I would just like to point out the subtle shift of comradeship here, note:  It is suddenly you, no longer are we a team) blew up Grandma’s mail box.”  Much laughing and merriment ensues, except by grandma and mom, who are shooting unkind, okay, they are downright nasty, looks at me.  “The door flew open, the back went shooting off and the top just kind’a went up and then fell down, then there was smoke coming out.  Man you blew the snot out’a that Dad.”

    At this point my brothers feel it is their duty to give their opinion, “Mom was really pissed at you.”

    Then, my daughter, who was not even alive, “Yeah and you had to go down and get a new mailbox and put it on that afternoon.”

    Then there is much fun and joviality as everyone expresses, dad’s, John’s, and uncle John’s supreme stupidity at putting two m-80’s in the mailbox.

    If they only knew it was a federal offense to blow up a public mailbox they wouldn’t be laughing. 

    Of course it doesn’t really help a guy’s case when he moons the police officer across the street. However, we won't go into that seeing as then it would be my childhood memory.

word count 745