Dec. 18th, 2006

geminigirl: (Chai)
I don't know why I feel like telling this story tonight, but I do.

Back in college, my first year in school, my grandparents sent a check for Chanukah, as they did every year. They must have called her, because my mother called me, absolutely livid that I'd never written a thank you note, nor bothered to call and thank them, or anything, and what kind of an ungrateful child was I and she must have done something terribly wrong if I thought it was okay to not do those things, especially for my grandparents.

I insisted I never got the check, my mother never really believed that I never got the check, and I, duly admonished (sort of) thanked my grandparents for the check that never arrived.

Fast forward a year or so later, and I'm living in an entirely different residence hall, new roommate, and everything. This also meant new mailing address, and new mailbox. I check the mail one afternoon, and in the mailbox is a plastic bag, with a partially destroyed, very singed, envelope, and a green card from the post office, explaining that the contents of the envelope had been in a mailbox that someone had set on fire, and that the contents of the bag may have been damaged, and they apologize for the delay, but the mail had been held as part of the investigation. In the bag was a card from my grandparents, and a singed check from Chanukah the year before.

I called my mother to tell her the story. She laughed and apologized. My grandparents, however, never quite got the story, though at some point they must have reconciled their check book and seen the check cashed...well after they wrote it.

That's a story I think of at Chanukah.


geminigirl: (Default)

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