My Cardboard Box

How many toys, what type of toys, how many computer games, how many special trips, how much T.V., or how many new toys does one child need? All of these questions seem to be constant on every parent’s mind today that I needed to recount my cardboard box.

You see, when I was a kid, I didn’t have all these new toys that parents are told today that they need by all those advertisers. In fact, my parents probably couldn’t have afforded them anyway because it was expensive enough looking after four children. Now, don’t get me wrong. We always had plenty to eat, always had clean clothes, although some were hand me downs, and we were always attended to by a doctor when it was needed.

Much time is spent talking about child’s play today that I think some of the most advantageous play involved the simplest of things. And, one of those great past times, for me, was a cardboard box, a big cardboard box. Well, truth be told, I had the advantage over many other children at the time in my neighborhood because my father received shipments of goods in large cardboard boxes. These boxes were so big that you could put six kids in one box with room to spare. Not that my dad ever did that, of course. Well, not all the time.

So, what is so special about my cardboard box? Nothing really, unless this box takes you to places unreachable by modern man (or child in this case), or creates a rewarding career, or provides protection from evil forces. Impossible, you say. Not so.

You may not know it, unless I tell you, that I’ve been to cardboard box castles so large that you can get lost for มวยสากล days exploring each room, climbing thousands of stairs, walking upon damp floors, crawling through secret passage ways, and hurtling flaming arrows from sky high ramparts.

Or, did you know that I had an early career as a news anchor, and weatherman in my cardboard box? I though not. In fact, after I was hired as a news anchor (translation: I cut out a square opening in one side of my box measuring the size of a TV set), I had to write all my own news scripts and weather reports for each day ensuring that the news was appropriate for my audience (anyone within ear shot-or, just in front of those TV cameras- they must have had cameras then, right?)

And, how about that fort that protected me from cannon balls, arrows, and hauntingly scary creatures of the night. No problem. I closed my steel doors, bolted my windows, and retreated to my secret fortified room. I could last for months (at least a couple of hours before mom called me for supper) with my store of food (just love soda crackers, and home-made cookies I pilfered from mom’s cookie jar), and lots of water (I hope mom doesn’t miss her favorite tea pot) so I could easily make all the tea I wanted.