Pressure from the third grade

In a scrapbook somewhere, probably buried in a toy box in another city, there is a picture of a robot. Next to the picture of this robot on parade is a quote, "Give me a box and I can be anything." The robot is me dressed in foil-covered boxes with knobs and dials and silver bendable tubing for arms and legs. The quote is mine; I had just finished a whirlwind year in the box-making business. For Halloween the previous year, I had my greatest triumph- I was a dryer. In a green-painted box with a second green box fashioned for knobs and dials, I tricked and treated my way through the dryer door, Bounce and laundry stuck to the inside. That same year, I entered a hat contest with what was billed at that time as the "third largest hat in the world." Resting on my shoulders precariously, the Empire state building, including a small plastic gorilla, towered above the other hats in the contest. The tower was painted brown and little yellow scraps of paper were haphazardly-placed windows. The hat didn't win, but I was still quite proud of it. Then came the robot. Even looking back I can see where my box optimism sprang from.

Now, several years later, the pressure from that statement haunts me. I get boxes in the office all of the time. They almost never transform me, nor I them. Tomorrow, Halloween arrives. Last year as a paradigm shift and then a frosted shredded wheat, I may have used up too much cleverness in one year. I've considered trotting out my Hawaiian shirt and being a tourist or unleashing my pleather pants to be a pleather-pants wearer, but I can't quite find the enthusiasm. I am unable to live up to the standards set by a third grade me.

That guy was a stellar tetherball player too. Man. I think I've lost that too...