Our Mailbox Symbolizes Victory
And getting it smashed was not defeat
Moving into our house was a battle. The small grey structure was filled with someone else’s belongings, decorated in the 1970s, and full of spiders, ladybugs, and mouse carcasses.
After months of cleaning, repairing, and painting, we finally arrived at a point where all our spare time wasn’t just put into house projects. But even after we finished the inside, there were still several sheds full of rusty tools, and a faulty old mailbox to deal with.
The mailbox, perched on the lower arm of a massive F-shaped post, was visible all the way down the street. It was gray and rusted, weather worn from years of Michigan weather and dust from our gravel road. And it was no longer watertight, so every time it rained, our mail became soggy and waterlogged. Finally, after months of frustration and ruined mail, Curtis bought a new mailbox. It was a shiny black with a racy red flag.
One cold day after work in early November, he gathered the tools and the new mailbox and went out to the street to replace the old one. It took him more than an hour to pry the old mailbox off the post and screw the new one on, and it was dark by the time he came inside with numb fingers.
But he didn’t mind his stiff hands. He was victorious.
