Last Tuesday, dad asked if I could post a letter for him at the post office down the street. I didn't normally run errands for people. But this time I agreed because he let me work from home that day instead of going to school with a sore throat.
Was I glad I went to the post office! As I mailed dad's letter and turned around to go home, I saw something that would totally devastate my uncle. This made my heart leap with joy. I never liked my uncle much. I never liked people who turned a blind eye to the obvious fact that I was super smart.
I was nine and I knew everything. Although I was the shortest boy in class, I was the cleverest. Everybody seemed to realize that, but not my uncle, the bald stamp-collector. Mom and dad would praise me often. So would granma and granpa who, between them, had the wisdom of more than a century and a half. They even recognized how assertive I was when I stood up for my rights and insisted that I won't do any chores around the house. They used to say I had such a strong personality about me at such a tender young age, which must be a very good thing.
But the most my uncle would say was ``I like the way you did that, Michael'' or just a measly little ``Good'' and that too only occasionally, maybe once a week on average. Obviously, I was very annoyed with him. How dare he not recognize my intellectual status! I had the answer to everything. I really did. But all he cared deeply about was his silly little stamps. Once, when I had been across the street to show him a clever new way to fill up my fountain pen, he even got angry at me for spilling ink over some stupid envelopes he was trying to peel stamps off. I learnt nothing useful from him.
So you can imagine my joy at having found the ideal weapon to get back at my uncle with. Need I say more? I ran straight to my uncle's from the post office. As usual, he was sitting by the window wearing his silver rimmed stamp-collector's glasses. Delicately, with a pair of tweezers that probably belonged to my aunt, he peeled away a steamed stamp from an old envelope and laid it out to dry on some blotting paper. He handled the stamps almost like they were his own babies. It was his whole life. To me though, his hobby was appallingly morbid, like the unpleasant work of an undertaker whose only job was to inhume bodies, the usefulness of whose lives had long been spent.
``How wonderful,'' I thought, ``to be able to teach somebody the lesson of their life!'' Especially someone who doesn't give you the intellectual respect you so rightly deserve.
A fleeting glance at me over the rim of his glasses quickly returned his small eyes to a stamp he was sizing up for a prospective grave in his album.
``Helll-ooo. What are you doing here at this time? Did school close early today?'' he drawled, not without a tinge of disappointment. And perhaps fear.
``I didn't go today.'' I said, moving in closer for the kill. It was such a fine day outside. Through the window, I could see the lively green grass tips on his unmowed lawn dancing briskly to the tune of a light breeze in the radiant afternoon sunshine. The breeze wafted in through the half open window and seemed to have the same effect upon his greying beard. I could hear the birds singing lovely summer songs in return for the apples on his laden trees outside. Should I spoil this wonderful day for him?
``Well.'', I said to myself, ``Truth is a bitter pill and one has to learn what one has to learn.''
``You must have been collecting stamps for a long time unk'' I tried to make it easy for him.
``30 years'', he whispered ever so softly as he blew gently on the stamp he had picked up.
``It must mean an awful lot to you?''
``Absolutely. It's been a big part of my life.''
With the meticulous precison of a watchmaker, he laid to rest a dry stamp in an acetate jacket of the album. He picked up another one from a tray and slowly immersed it in some kind of solution, the first step in an elaborate embalming ritual.
``It's such a pity unk'', I said, trying to feign sympathy, ``It's all a waste. There is no use. What a waste of 30 years! But then of course, you will find some other hobby.'' This must be what condescension feels like. It was good.
Unk didn't bat an eyelid as he swayed the stamp to and fro in solution and then lifted it out.
``What exactly do you mean?'' he asked with an incredible degree of nonchalance. How naive of him to not even realize the gravity of the situation! He couldn't even read anything into the way I was trying to bring up something important. It's absolutely no use trying to soften the blow for some people. ``I'll have to give it to him the hard way'' I decided.
``I saw it... Today at the post office... You will never be able to do it.''
``Do what?''
``Collect them all, I mean.'' I burst out. ``They printed new stamps. I even saw a brochure that said they are going to print new stamps every year! You will never have the lot. You will never be able to collect all the stamps in the world!''
I was ready to see my uncle break down and cry his heart out. I braced myself. Boy, did it feel good to wreck him.
``Oh that!'' Unk laughed. ``I knew that all along. They've been issuing new stamps ever since I was a little boy like you.''
I was flabbergasted. ``You knew that they were printing new stamps?''
``That's the whole point.'' Unk said. ``Otherwise I wouldn't have been interested in philately in the first place.''
``Fill a ...''
``Philately -- the art of collecting stamps'' he said soberly. ``I mean, what is the use of it if you could one day have the lot and sit back? Some grapes are sweet only because we can't reach them.''
``Huh?''
``So we'll enjoy something for its own sake.''
``Oh that.'' I said, as one would respond to a clich\'e. ``Well, I'd better get going now. I have homework to finish for tomorrow. See you later.''
``See you'' Unk said, probably with a great deal of relief to see me go.
As I entered home, mom saw me. ``Where have you been?'' she inquired.
``I was at the post office to mail one of dad's letters.''
``You are so kind.'' mom said, ``not to mention clever and handy. I bet you put it in the right box this time. You remember what happened the last time when you mailed your photos to Nana, don't you?''
``Sure I do mom.''
``You're wonderful Mikey.'' she said, in her usual sincere way.
``Why can't my uncle be more like mom or dad'' I thought. ``I always learn so much from them. I hardly ever learn anything from him.