The Cigar Box

As a child I was fascinated by cigar boxes. It’s not what you think. They smelled like my grandpa. He always seemed to have a stogie in his mouth with one end glowing orange and the other end chewed up. It was great. The best part about his cigars were the boxes we kids got for school the next spring. He would take empty cardboard boxes that had contained his cigars and paint the outside so they looked like the boxes we would get for school. They held pens, pencils, protractors and those lethal weapons known as compasses. I suspect a student would be in major trouble for carrying the stiletto pointed devices into school now. When I was young, we would be in trouble for not having them.

One year, I think it was around third grade (give or take a decade), Pa brought me two boxes. The green one he had made me had an accident. Just after painting, it fell off his workbench and into a pile of sawdust. The lid was ruined. Or so he thought. Ever the frugal Scotsman, he picked it up and added another layer of spray paint over the sawdust-infused lid. It made it something special. I had a rough-lidded box for my desk and a spare one he made just in case I didn’t want that one. I took both, not wanting to hurt his feelings. The one with the weird top was kind of strange. Taking it to school was not high on my list of things to do.

The first day of school arrived and I found myself with two boxes for my desk. I quickly placed both in there, not wanting anyone to notice the odd box. Within an hour, everyone knew about the sawdust-covered box. EVERYONE wanted one. I was cool for a few days. I bragged that I was sure my grandpa could make them for anyone who wanted one. Yeah, right. Like that was going to happen. Fortunately, most people forgot.

There are no empty cigar boxes around my place. I did try a King George cigar once, long after Pa was gone. Once! That was one vice I chose to forgo. The one cigarette I tried also made me sick. Don’t worry. I have plenty of other vices. My addiction to chocolate malts is legendary at my chocolate malt addicts support group.

Isn’t it amazing the things that make the biggest differences? Sometime a mistake can be the best thing. When I look back on the last five years of my life and see all the things that have gone so horribly wrong, I am finally grateful. Without all the disasters and catastrophes, I would not be the man I am today. Today, I am a writer, a dreamer, a furturist, and someone who loves life. None of those words would have been used within a mile of me even three years ago. For the first time in a long time, I can say I like the person I am becoming.

The mistakes in my life, like cigar boxes that fell in the sawdust, have turned out for the better. I wouldn’t want to go back to a cigar box without the saw dust. That is what makes it special. That is what makes it mine.