Ronald the Turkey

My parents recently gave me a memory box that had been left behind at their house. A memory box, for me and my siblings, is just a cardboard box filled with artifacts of our youth. There is no order to the things in each box and you never know what you’ll find.

I had lots of piece of art and writing in my memory box, which makes sense. All throughout growing up I was encouraged to pursue creative endeavors. After reading some of my old assignments and essays, I’m thinking I should have been encouraged to be a little happier. Check out this morbid piece of writing from when I eight.

Transcript:

Hi. I’m Ronald the turkey. I’m six. My sister Jenny’s three. Oh no Mr. Baker is coming with a hatchet. He’s coming for me. I wish I could fly! Oh no! Slice!