I was 7 years old when I first heard about “snail mail” from my mother. She worked at the post office at the time. I’d also decided that I desperately wanted to go to Africa. What did I do? I dragged a big box to the front door where we kept all of our outgoing mail and scrawled “Please snail mail to Africa” on it in magic marker. Then I instructed my sister, who was 3 at the time, on how to tape up the box. She couldn’t use scissors yet, so I cut them for her and she put the pieces on one at a time. She also had to climb up on a chair in order to reach. Tiny lil’ thing.
Once that was done, my brother came up and asked what we were doing. I told him I wanted to go to Africa so that I could bring back a giraffe and diamonds. So he opened the box and put some canned vegetables in and a jug of water (we were doing a food charity drive for kids in Africa, so he thought I could get them there faster). I thought that I was very well prepared for my trip. Then he opened the front door, pushed me out the door and down the sidewalk to the curb, where we all sat and waited for the mailman.
The mailman arrived and proceeded to tell my brother that he (the mailman) couldn’t carry the big box by himself. Then he proceeded to inform us on how the package should be properly shipped. They then had a quick snack on top of the box…I was still in the box. So my sister poked food through the holes that I’d cut out of the sides, ‘cause I thought I’d suffocate if I didn’t have them.