Banjo case vs. Baby coffin.

After writing about my dad's trinket collection of plaster (ceramic?) heads, my family was quite concerned about my mention of the baby coffin.

Allow my to clarify.  It looks like more for a small child than for a baby.  I don't know the truth. To this day... I don't know who to believe as to what it was or why it was up there in the loft at my great-grandmother's house.

My dad claims it's a banjo case.  (I'm leaning towards this being the correct answer)

My mother has no earthly idea what I'm talking about.  She was pretty sure that I made it up, but turns out she's the only one in the family that didn't know it was there.

And my sister and female cousin have similar stories to mine about it.

My brother said he never looked inside it.

I did.  My other brother made me.

The thing was filled with stuffed animals.  And other stuff... but I can't remember what.  Remember... I'm not perceptive.  But this is what I remember it looking like:

I didn't intentionally seek out this creepy thing that haunted my childhood.  Oh no no no.  My brothers tricked me.  The question is, did they plan it out, or did the opportunity just arise?

Every Sunday afternoon my extended family met at my Nana's (great-grandmother's) house for supper (or dinner?  Whatever the afternoon meal on Sunday is called in the south).  There were 14 of us on any given Sunday.  After supper us kids would play while the parents cleaned up or took a nap or whatever adults do on Sunday afternoons.  I never understood the whole nap thing until I became an adult.  It's a rite of passage, I tell ya!

So on this particular Sunday us kids were playing in the garage.  It's a two car garage with a can-house/laundry room, whose roof makes a loft for storage in the top of the garage.  The rafters are exposed... are you getting the picture?

There has always been a ladder leading up to the loft.  Not a lot was stored up there, but that's where the ladder always was.  My 3 older brothers somehow convinced me to climb up and get in the loft area.

1) I'm scared of heights.
2) I'm scared of scary things.

I climbed up because I was brave, but I was just way too scared to climb back down. What if I fell and died for goodness sakes?  (My logic as a child.  I was not the daredevil.)  So I stayed in the loft of the garage for an hour or so until my parents came out looking for us.  It was pretty warm up there, but I was too scared to climb down.  I figured they'd have to come rescue me sooner or later.

I vaguely remember my brothers laughing, but then after awhile, trying to coax me down.  I think they were scared of the consequences they may have to suffer if mom and dad saw what was really going on.

But I stayed.  And while I was up there they told me to start digging around.  I'm not a question asker.  I'm not a digger.  I don't pry.  But they taunted and taunted and then told me to find the baby coffin.

Baby coffin?  There it was.  A baby coffin.  Creepy.  And I don't remember what they said, but they managed to get me to open the stupid thing up.  I wish I'd known what they said to make me do that.  It was pretty darn powerful because I hated being up there and I don't do coffins.

Stuffed animals.  That's what was inside.  How creepy is that?

Wanna know the real bonus?  I lived in this house for 2.5 years when Josh and I were first married.  I never went up in that loft... I was still too scared.

The more I think about my family... we're an awful weird bunch.  The thing is, I thought we were so normal during my childhood.

Photo by: Blue Frame Photography