|My son, John, with my daughter Mary, and Benjamin in Switzerland|
Finding another box to unpack has become routine in this house; then there is a moment of discovery and/or disappointment. With big sighs or sadness, the box is either unpacked or closed up to be pitched out. When will this stop, I ask. When. Will. This. Stop?
This was one of the many strange boxes, hidden in garage rafters, where dust and mites had settled. Movers followed blind orders and brought this one to here. On the lid were words written in our son’s peculiar handwriting, with his peculiar humor.
“If Zombies or commies or red Chinese attack or Christmas 2013: Break the seals and open. Open and prepare your body for Thunderdome (That is probably the new law).”
I did open the lid, but all the warnings did not come to fruition. Written upside down (for the unfortunate opener) were directions:
(on one side) “These are for laundry, toruniquets, and needless hangings” with an arrow pointing down.
(next side) “Done cleaning? Make your broom do double duty to kill zombies.” Arrow pointing down.
(Last side) “ Instrumental video”
Strangely, contents of the box were missing only the broom, but included two binoculars. But it did include some awesome knives, which were apparently a present for his father that Christmas. The method of presentation was clever.
Our son has grown on to a successful life and career, but has maintained his peculiar sense of humor.
|My son with his fiance' Arlette|
|John (5), Mary (3), Erin (9) in 1984|
If I find more photos, I will flood the zone called "Oh, how precious they were and are now!"