Hey, why is it that nothing the post office ever delivers to me is addressed to “Master Michael Madonna” anymore?
When I was a kid, that was all the rage. Order something from the back of a box of cereal and it would come addressed to “Master Michael Madonna”. My CAP’N CRUNCH deck of playing cards was sent to the attention of “Master Michael Madonna”.
How did the term “Master” become applicable to male children in America anyway? Seemed to me that that would have been a proper form of address to boys in England, but somehow it migrated here. Did we have a British Postmaster General in the days when I was a kid, and if so, did he bring this phrase with him?
Anyway, I guess I didn’t really consider how old I’d gotten until I remembered that I wasn’t “Master Michael Madonna” anymore.
Of course, getting into the teen years and such, and after having read some of those “Mandingo/Falconhurst/Kyle Onstott” books, I learned that the word “Master” had an entirely different meaning than what I was used to.
What a bizarre journey it has been from the youthful “Master Michael Madonna” to the “Hey, you’re almost eligible for your AARP benefits” mail I’m getting these days.
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