by Beth Goodman

Disclaimers: None whatsoever. Oh, maybe a spew alert.

Feedback is always welcome: bethgoodman@e-scribblers.com.

Copyright © 2004 by Beth Goodman. All Rights Reserved.

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Do you remember the best toy you ever got? One that was filled with potential and infinite possibilities? One that made you the envy of the neighborhood?

I do. Mine was a cardboard box.

Not just any box, but a great big, heavy duty refrigerator box.

I think I was about 7 or 8 at the time, and my cousin Johnny had come to visit grandma for a bit. I'm not sure how it all came about, but I have a vague recollection of riding in his truck to somewhere where I managed to wind up with cactus spines in my backside and red ant bites all over my hands, and then us all driving home with that wonderful box in the truck bed.

There is one memory that is crystal clear, however. It's the sight of that box flying out of the back of the truck while we were on the highway, and feeling my heart break. I had so many big plans, and they were all gone with a gust of wind.

I also remember, with joy to this very day, that Johnny stopped the truck and chased that box down across 4 lanes of Interstate traffic, simply because he knew I really wanted it. I didn't ask him to do it, it was too much to expect, but oh, how delighted I was at his compassion and heroism.

I literally lived in that box until it completely fell apart. It was a castle, a space ship, a dungeon, a cabin in the woods, a cave once inhabited by wild Indians, an escape tunnel...

The box stayed in our living room for several weeks, until it finally gave out along the seams and became nothing more than a large chunk of cardboard.

But I wasn't done with that box yet.

We had a steep hill in the front yard with five concrete steps that led from the upper half, where the house was, to the lower half and the street. Kathy and I (You remember Kathy, right? My constant partner in crime?) laid the cardboard out along the hill and then sat on a smaller piece of cardboard to slide down -- and boy did it work! You got the most points if it shot you all the way into the street. (Cars? What Cars? This was an Olympic Bobsled Track!)

After a while, the ride down the hill lost some of it's thrill and sense of danger, so then we re-positioned the cardboard up and slid down the steps instead. That turned out to be even more fun.

As is the way of it, the time did come when the ragged remains of my cardboard playmate were set out for the garbage men to carry off. I knew from the beginning it would be a fleeting possession, and I felt that it had served me well beyond all my expectations.

I missed the box, but since I still had Kathy, life moved on -- Granny taught us how to make a tent out of two chairs and a sheet and we were soon off adventuring again.

Time passed, and I grew older, into that age when you are too old, and yet not old enough, to play with toys. But when I was in Junior High and my neighbor got all new kitchen appliances, I merrily let go of my desire to be grown-up and reveled in the joy of three cardboard boxes.

Take me to Life With Granny 10...

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