NaturallyResilient

About

This article is provided by Ann’s husband, Paul.

My family lived in Ft. Sill Oklahoma during the years when I was in kindergarten into the middle of the third grade. We lived in post housing right next to the golf course and a really cool woodsy area with a fairly good sized creek. During that time, there was a toad that lived behind the house. I would catch him (or her?) every summer and keep him for a pet for awhile before letting him go again. I knew it was the same toad because the underside of his chin was blue. Or maybe it was purple, I dunno.  I can’t tell the difference because I’m colorblind.

One summer I had put the toad in a tennis ball can, and left the can on the washing machine in the utility room off the kitchen, and forgotten about him. A little later, my mother was doing laundry, and noticed the tennis ball can. She picked it up and noticed there was something inside.

I can just imagine what was going through that toad’s mind when my mother took the lid off that can: “Free at last, Free at last, Free at last!” — and leapt out of the can.   At the same time, here’s my mother taking the lid off the can to look inside and see what’s there.  Out jumps the toad, probably right in her face — surprise!  She screamed!

Now it so happens that the Postman was delivering mail to our house at that very moment.  The mailbox for the house was a little chute through the brick that dropped into the kitchen, so as he’s opening the little flap door to insert the mail, out comes my mother’s terrified scream!  I suppose a cartoonist would show his hair being blown back from the sound of the scream coming out of the mail chute.  He came running into the house to see what was the matter, only to find my mother holding the tennis ball can and a toad hopping around, and probably mad as a wet hen.

I guess it’s no wonder I wasn’t my mother’s favorite child.