Shawn L. Bird

I’m getting really irritated with the neighbourhood vandals who keep tipping over our community mailboxes.  They lie face up, so our boxes fill with rain water and our box locks seize up.  And of course, while the boxes are lying there, the postal carrier doesn’t deliver mail to us, and if there is something important we’re waiting for (like cheques or a writing contract, for example!) we just have to keep waiting.  

The city could install street lights on our street so that the boxes were illuminated better.  That might help.  Or they could put a triangle of support bars on the backs of the boxes (although that might just mean the vandals go the other way and push the boxes forward.  At least they wouldn’t fill with rain, though).   Many boxes in our community are cemented into the ground or bolted onto their cement pad, not just sitting on paving stones.  That would help, too.  While I wait for the post office to come up with a real solution to the issue, I’m thinking about Drew.*

Drew spent years as a teacher and administrator, though he’s been retired for a few years.  He lives in the country and his mail is delivered to a mailbox set on a post at the end of his drive-way.  Apparently every once in awhile some local hooligans would get it in their minds to play vandal baseball.  One would drive, while the other sat on window ledge of the passenger door, and whacked mail boxes as they drove by.  A lot of hooting and laughter accompanied this ride of mailbox doom.  The neighbours would hear the car, laughter, the smash, and then more hoots of delight as the vandals drove onto the next box.  In the morning, broken mailboxes and smashed posts littered the road and the ditches, making lots of work for everyone.

After years of dealing with youth, Drew knows students learn best from real experience.   He had replaced his mailbox once, only to have the vandals return to wreck it again a few months later.  Drew decided he was not going to replace it again.  He got busy in his shop.

A few months later, after the neighbours had all repaired their boxes again, Drew was in his living room  when he heard the telltale late night laughter that indicated another baseball game was about to begin.  He listened as the kids roared down the street, whacked a box into the sky, and laughed drunkenly.  The pattern was familiar as they approached: roar, whack, laugh, roar, whack, laugh, roar, THUNK, howl.  Then there was cursing, muttering, and the roar of the car leaving the neighbourhood.

Drew had decided his post needed to have a little reinforcement.  He’d set a 3″ steel tube into a deep concrete base, and then he’d filled the steel tube itself with concrete before mounting his mailbox on it. 

Drew’s mailbox remains firm after many years, and as an added bonus, so have his neighbours’ mailboxes.  A lesson was learned.

Maybe I should ask if Drew can think up a more secure system for our community mailboxes?

*name has been changed

Once upon a time I thought, “Once I have a permanent job, I will sign up for a foster child.”  Sixteen years later, I still didn’t have a permanent job, and I decided I was going to support a child in a developing country anyway.  I explored several options.  I read a lot of annual reports on-line.  I started getting a lot of mail from World Vision.  In the end I chose to support a small organization out of Vancouver called Canadian Harmabee Education Society.  CHES supports girls to get an education in Tanzania or Kenya.  I liked that my money goes directly to the girl I sponsor.  All of it.  If I want to support the administration of the society, I send them a separate cheque for that.  My student is in Kenya.  She’s not the best in her class by a long shot, but her grades are improving over the years.  She wants to be a doctor.   Her family farms in a small village.  School is a big deal.   I pay her tuition every year.  Her family provides her uniform and supplies.

Soon after I became Lydia’s sponsor, I received Continuing status with the school district.  It seemed like a small reward for taking the leap and helping a whole family through the education of their daughter.  A little bit of karma in action.

The other day I was working out at Curves.  It was me and three retired ladies.  They were all around seventy years old.  The ladies didn’t know each other, but they were discussing their shared passion.  Guess what they were talking about?  Grandchildren?  Cookie recipes?  Quilting?

Nope.

They were discussing their philanthropic work in Africa.  All three had travelled through Africa making a difference in communities.  One had had a gun in her face, but claimed never to have been afraid while there.  All of them had been there in the last few years, and all were planning a return in the very near future. 

Modern grandmas making a difference in the world.  Pretty cool, eh?  How are you making a difference?