MOFB’s “Cut to the Chase” : Dad finally gave the post office his stamp of approval

I had a question for the U.S. Postal Service recently, but instead of writing, calling or going by the post office in person, I went to their Web site and contacted them by e-mail. Frankly, I did not really expect the Postal Service to acknowledge e-mail even exists; it probably takes a lot of business away from them.

There must be times, however, when even the Postal Service also wants letters delivered in a timely fashion, not to mention saving 39 cents postage for each letter sent by e-mail. Like most Web site e-mails, I had to give certain required information in order to access the Postal Service e-mail address.

Following the requirement of my name was the requirement of giving them my zip code. I was overcome with paranoia; the thought ran through my mind the Postal Service wanted my name and zip code so they could get even with me for not sending my question by first-class mail.

My biggest fear was that the Postal Service would sell my name and address to companies who use direct mail. Besides the immediate profit of selling my name and address, the Postal Service would have the added benefit of profiting from all the extra postage generated from the tons of new junk mail coming my way.

I threw caution to the wind, however, and gave them my zip code. Then it struck me – the Postal Service only wanted my five-digit zip code. I tried to give them the extended nine-digit zip code, but their Web site would not accept it. This does little to support their claim they really need those extra four digits.

I am not really picking on the Postal Service – they provide a lot of jobs to farmers who finance their addiction to farming with income earned as rural mail carriers. In fact, when I was 11 years old I wanted to be a mailman.

Please allow me to put in perspective just how long ago it was since I was 11 years old. First-class postage increased 1,200 percent since then; when I was 11, you could you could mail a letter for three cents. When I was 11, the U.S. Postal Service did not even exist; it was called the U.S. Post Office. It was, however, after the days of the Pony Express.

My dad thought my desire to be a mailman showed a lack of ambition on my part. He was not degrading mailmen in any way; but, like most fathers, he hoped his son would become a doctor, lawyer or chairman of the board of a Fortune 500 company. He held onto that hope until he realized the C grades I was receiving in college actually far exceeded the expectations of my college counselor.

Many years later, while barely scrimping out a living as a rock-‘n-roll disc jockey, I told my dad about a friend of mine who was a rural mail carrier. When I informed dad how much money my friend was earning (more than three times my annual salary), dad said, "Hey, Den – have you ever thought of being a mailman?"

Dads… you’ve just got to love them. I know I absolutely treasure mine. Happy Father’s Day!

(Denny Banister, of Jefferson City, is the assistant director of public affairs for the Missouri Farm Bureau, the state’s largest farm organization.)