A baby possum and family pride

I remember the time a baby possum came into my house, it was dark and I was with two of my brothers. I think it was during a weekend and we were alone. It was a memorable experience in my childhood that lived up to the romanticized adventure stories we’d hear, but never really cared about. We had a game plan to figure how to get the possum out. The oldest one of us, Solomon took charge of what we should do, how to cope with being under the same roof of a foreign MONSTER, and how we were going to execute our plan.


So our plan went like this.The first thing we did was to build a safeguard, because in no way were we going to catch rabies at the age of seven, nine, and eleven.  Protection was the most important tactic—and it was all we could think of. We gathered pillows from our bedrooms as fast as we could nearly tripping at the last step of the stairs, but we also had to make sure that the possum stay put while we gathered our defensive equipment. My youngest brother was watching over the possum that was behind our tv, while my brother and I slid over the stair railing into our protective space without going beyond our borders. We arranged our couches as a barricade, and that’s when we encountered our first problem. The only way we could get out of our homemade couch and pillow fort was to climb over and out of the staircase. I was the only flexible one so it all was all up to me to bring the necessities that kept our hungry hearts alive.


The adrenaline was pumping and we were fidgety from excitement, it was like getting ready for a track meet that determined where our ranks would be placed. We all knew that there wasn’t really a threat to our safety(because of the barricade), but at least I pretended to act as if it was. It was so fun joining forces against something that we were all against, that I forgot how unpredictable an animal could be. Being scared together was kind of….thrilling or perhaps I was the only one thinking this.


Later that night, my oldest brother, Isaac, came home and found out about the possum. He wasn’t mad that we messed up the house, he just laughed like he was in disbelief at how prepared we were to battle against a rabid possum. Okay so I’m exaggerating, the possum wasn’t rabid. It didn’t move at all, literally. My oldest brother had to get a golf club and drag the possum outside because it was playing dead the whole time it was in our house. Once the possum was out, it scurried back into the pile of leaves I’m guessing it came from. We got all hyped for something my oldest brother took care of, if we had known this I think nothing would have changed. We’d go through the experience even knowing what we did was redundant. I guess siblings aren’t so bad to live with.