dear giant wooden spoon

Dear Giant Wooden Spoon,
This letter is long overdue. I have some serious questions for you and feel that after more than 30 years, you owe me some answers. For starters, how many of you are there??!! It seems to me that every grandparent in the continental United States has some incarnation of you hanging on their wall. What amazing power do you and your kind hold that makes everyone of 'the greatest generation' pull out hammer and nail to mount you in a place of prominence in houses around the country? I swear, I think you were in their house before I was!
Why is it that more often than not, your eternal partner, the Giant Wooden Fork, is mounted not too far away, yet is typically slightly lower on the wall than you? Is this to display your dominance? Is this some sick wooden power play to show the world that the spoon rules over the fork? I for one would think that with its ability to stab things, the fork would reign as king. Yet somehow you and your oblong brethren have pulled off the ultimate coup. Well done.
Lastly, and this is the real heart of the matter, did you derive some sort of sick pleasure from 'tanning my backside' all those years? Yes, I know I shouldn't have set fire to my hot wheels. I know I shouldn't have snuck into the fridge and drank grandpas beer. And I know I shouldn't have shot the neighbors cat with the BB gun (though that cat had it coming). But really, did you have to be so hard on my rear? Couldn't you have maybe flexed a little while granddad was swinging for the fences on my tender little butt? I was only a little lad with a rear no bigger than a volleyball!! Yet you stayed solid, and dished out the punishment as you deemed fit. Then, after all was said and done, you hung there on the wall with your round face looking to the world as though you were smiling about what had just happened. Oh how I despised you.
So, Giant Wooden Spoon, let this letter serve as notice. Unless I wake up one day to find myself suddenly a giant craving a huge bowl of cereal, you and your kind will NEVER be welcome in my house. I may allow Fork to visit though, just to rub it in your stupid round face.

Still feeling the sting,
Jason