My Sign

I suppose I was 10 or so when my brother Jim gave me a Woodburning Kit for Christmas. For those who aren't familiar, such a kit contains a knifelike instrument with an electrical cord attached. When the woodburner is plugged in, the small knifeblade becomes hot, and it is used to burn lettering or images into soft wood.

I was never very good with anything to do with wood or electricity, so I had two strikes against me at the get go. I hated to see the woodburner go unused, though, so I decided to make a sign that could be hung at the end of the driveway just beneath the mailbox. My Daddy's name was Clyde, and we lived at 508 8th Avenue, so I got to work to make my sign. It would read Clyde Livingston, 508.

I worked for about an hour, burning my letters into the slat of wood, then varnishing it to a gleem and hanging it with a bit of chain I had found. I waited for Daddy to pull into the driveway from work, so that I could gauge his reaction.

At about 3:30, same as always, Daddy came rolling in. I noticed an odd look on his face, and I asked him how he liked the sign. He said it was nice, but didn't seem excited about it. I found out a little later in the afternoon why he was a little hesitant with his praise.

The mailbox sign was fine up close, but as you looked at it from further away, my inexperience at using the woodburner took it's toll. From a distance, the sticklike lettering CLYDE LIVINGSTON 508 appeared instead to read CLYDE LIVINGSTON SOB. Daddy had seen the sign on his approach to the house, and had immediately figured out what was going on. He was a good man, though, and took the unintended insult with a smile. As for me, I took the sign down and disposed of it as quickly as possible.

There are lots of toys like Woodburning Kits that appear at first glance to be fun things to have. After I woodburned my mailbox sign, I couldn't think of anything else to do with the kit. It is probably still sitting around somewhere..