Monday, 21 October 2013
It doesn't matter how old you get. The moment you see the mailman or woman walking down the block, your heart skips a beat. "Oh, boy! What am I going to get today?" you think.
Of course the reality is never so good as the fantasy. As a child I couldn't wait till the day came that I got mail. As a child I only ever received cards for birthdays and holidays, and Playstation Magazine. As an adult, I get junk, trying to sell me stuff, or bills for stuff I already bought. The thought of mail doesn't fill me with glee. Just anxiety.
That hasn't stopped me from passing down the tradition, though. My son is practically beside himself when he doesn't get mail. So much that I have taken to giving him my junk mail.
"Here. You have mail, Buddy."
"I do?" His eyes light up with glee. "I love getting mail!"
There is a fragment of that child's joy in all of us. It's there when we see the mail truck. On those rare days, when we know something is coming for us--and we cannot wait--it burns in us like a torch. It just takes a little tapping in to.