The Box

Some of my fondest childhood memories involve a giant box. I read a fantastic children’s book called Christina Katarina and the Box sometime in elementary school, which spun a mesmerizing tale of all the things you could make from a refrigerator box. My grandfather scoped out some department stores in town until he found me a big box. (My grandfather was a giant among men in terms of playtime. He got stung scooping up ants for me when I wanted an ant farm, he was willing to be the groom in endless marriage ceremonies–both with me and my stuffed animals–and he’d always let Miss Kitty save Matt Dillon from the bad guys when we played Gunsmoke.)

I have a very vivid memory of cutting a little window in my castle/box for television watching, plopping it down about four feet from the television, and my grandmother commenting from the sofa that it was a shame castles weren’t see-through.

Well, I am now re-living my fond box memories. The boy is obsessed with firetrucks, so that was our first order of business.  We cut out a door and added a steering wheel (formerly a drain stopper), some sirens and lights (red plastic cups and a battery-powered tea light), and a detachable hose on the back (some sort of rope with a hook, fortuitously found in the tool department at CVS.)  Also, we’ve got wheels and a lot of duct tape. This is really our test model–next we need a refrigerator box. And the boy wants stripes. And possibly a Dalmatian.