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I can just imagine…….Four burly young men crowded into the shiny, extended cab pickup – a gift from Mom and Dad to the driver. Across the lap of the young man closest to the open window stretches a three foot long metal bar. It is round and solid and heavy. All four men wrap fingers around tall, cold cans of beer nursing the drinks during conversation. Each has already put away a couple of cans prior to entering their joy wagon. A little tipsy, their idea of fun becomes more reckless by the minute. The engine roars and the driver puts the big truck into gear, backs onto the main road and heads to a thoroughfare picked at random. Laughing and joking, these scoundrels size up the row of mailboxes dotting the long road and rev the engine. Mr. Window Seater pokes the metal pole out of the window and yells, “Charge!!!” The driver spins the tires of his truck and peels out in a burst of gasoline energy. “Clang!” goes the first mailbox as the side caves in from the force of the metal iron. “Ka-thud” goes the second as it is totally torn off its post, hitting the ground and rolling into the ditch. “Ka-Whap” goes the third mailbox as it is mashed flat and the door is torn off its hinges.  And then they see the Oklahoma Pastry Cloth™ Company mail recepticle. It’s a little bit larger than the ones previously creamed – a perfectly shaped, white, metal object that appears to have never been touched by previous marauders and will surely ring with a glorious sound when smashed with a three foot metal rod. The mailbox’s pristine color and smooth shape is just begging to be attacked. Mr. Driver stops to drink in the picture and savor the moment. Foot on the gas pedal, he presses it all the way to the floor. Mr. Window Seater extends his body out of the window and aims for the mailbox. The metal pole makes contact at 60 mph. But something is wrong. A shudder reverberates up the pole, into the hands and arms of the bearer and all the way down to his feet. His teeth rattle. His brain shakes. And he lets out a howl of pain. The metal instrument of destruction flies out of his hands and bounces across the landscape. All of the inhabitants of the truck look back in astonishment as their weapon disappears and the mailbox still stands, unscathed. Suddenly, their alcohol befuddled minds take on a slight sense of reality and they speed off into the distance, headed for home and an ice pack/aspirin for Mr. Window Seater.  And the large, white mailbox stands resolute and firm, a tiny, imperceptible dent beside previous imperceptible dents, near the door, and a small chip and crack in the solid CONCRETE within. Mr. Window Seater is no match for Mr. Fix-It.  You see, Mr. Fix-It took a larger metal mail box and put a smaller rubber mailbox inside, floating the smaller box on small blocks of wood to leave an equal amount of space around the rubber mailbox. He then mixed concrete and poured that around the perimeter of the rubber box, leaving almost a 1″ ring of concrete between the two boxes. When dried, he bolted his new concoction onto a braced wooden post that he had sunk into concrete as well. It’s heavy, but it’s tough!! |
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Homestead Revival
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