kerewin's whine cellar

Passing The Plate

Back when I was in the 6th grade and my sister was in the 7th a package was delivered to the house. The package was sent by certified mail, but at the time we didn't know that. My Dad was the one who signed for it, although I don't quite know why he signed for it, since it wasn't addressed to us. It was some stranger that we didn't know and must have lived in the same house before us.

H-star and I couldn't keep our hands off the package. It was square and cardboard, kind of like the packaging used to mail CDs, although this was before that time (but only by a few years). We were just dying to know what was in inside, kind of like a Christmas present. Since it seemed so similar we did to that package what we would have done to a nice cute package sitting under the Christmas tree. We pulled a corner. Just a teensy bit, but it revealed no evidence as to the contents of the package. We then did a classic kid move. We decided to open it up all the way, under the impression that we would be able to make it look untouched after.

Inside was a small, silver plate with a card. It was about as big as an accent plate, but perfectly mirrored. No engraving or anything. I can't even remember what event it was a gift for, perhaps a wedding. Now that we had the beautiful and perfect thing opened what did we do? Well, first we realized that we wouldn't ever be able to make the box right again. Then we...darn, I don't even remember. Probably shit our pants from how stupid we were. Then we did another classic kid move. We hid the plate and threw the box out.

A couple of days later Dad asked if we had seen the box since he wanted to take it to the post office (hm, that sort of implies that he never signed for it, doesn't it? Maybe it just came with delivery confirmation? I don't think they had that back in 1983. Odd.) since it didn't belong to us. We just looked back at him with innocent eyes. "What package?" For some reason, he believed us. Every few weeks or so we would ask each other, "What are we supposed to do with that plate?"

Even then I knew that whoever sent it would be expecting a thank you card, or some acknowledgement. Or that they would come knocking on our door and ask what happened to the silver plate they bought. There was definitely a lot of guilt built up in that plate. However, a few months later that didn't stop us from giving the plate to our parents for their anniversary. I don't know how they thought a 12 and a 13 year-old had the smack to buy a silver plate, but I like that parents would rather believe the good in you, than the bad.

This all happened over 20 years ago and I haven't told that story to a living soul, nor ever brought it up again with H-star. I wonder if the parents even have the damn thing still. They are rather packrats, so it seems likely. How does one make up for such a thing?

Posted by kerewin at September 20, 2005 10:21 PM