June 30, 2010
I started walking to school when I was seven. I’d leave the house about 8 o’clock and get home around 2 o’clock. Then I’d change into my play clothes, take the key off the hook, and walk to the Post Office. I’d get Mom and Dad’s mail. I’d make sure the box was locked, then I’d go over to the fire station. I’d have to wait for an adult to cross the road. Most people knew me, so it wasn’t a problem. I’d talk to the firemen for 10 or 15 minutes, then back to the house.
Five years later we moved to Tucson, Arizona. I noticed houses had mailboxes in front – just and empty box on a pole. My dad had a house built and the mailbox was by the front door. We loved that – the Post Office didn’t like it. They said the postman would have to get out of his cart and walk up to the door. My dad and the Post Office had a lot to say to each other.
Sixty-five years have passed and I get a card from the Post Office telling me that for a fee, I can get a Post Office Box. If they put a fire station across the street, I’ll do it.