The Coins

Prepare for a rather long post but I've been thinking about this story for a long time and finally decided to share it. I really can't believe that I actually finished my Masters degree (officially on May 22) and I can't help but reminisce a little about how this whole college journey got started. But first, you'll have to read this story called "The Coins." I don't know if it's true or not, probably not, but it makes me cry when I read it because, well, you'll just have to finish the post!

The Coins
The pickle jar as far back as I can remember sat on the floor beside the dresser in my parents' bedroom. When he got ready for bed, Dad would empty his pockets and toss his coins into the jar. As a small boy I was always fascinated at the sounds the coins made as they were dropped into the jar. They landed with a merry jingle when the jar was almost empty. Then the tones gradually muted to a dull thud as the jar was filled. I used to squat on the floor in front of the jar and admire the copper and silver circles that glinted like a pirate's treasure when the sun poured through the bedroom window. When the jar was filled, Dad would sit at the kitchen table and roll the coins before taking them to the bank. Taking the coins to the bank was always a big production. Stacked neatly in a small cardboard box, the coins were placed between Dad and me on the seat of his old truck. Each and every time, as we drove to the bank, Dad would look at me hopefully. "Those coins are going to keep you out of the textile mill, son. You're going to do better than me. This old mill town's not going to hold you back." Also, each and every time, as he slid the box of rolled coins across the counter at the bank toward the cashier, he would grin proudly "These are for my son's college fund. He'll never work at the mill all his life like me." We would always celebrate each deposit by stopping for an ice cream cone. I always got chocolate. Dad always got vanilla. When the clerk at the ice cream parlor handed Dad his change, he would show me the few coins nestled in his palm. "When we get home, we'll start filling the jar again." He always let me drop the first coins into the empty jar. As they rattled around with a brief, happy jingle, we grinned at each other. "You'll get to college on pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters," he said. "But you'll get there. I'll see to that." The years passed, and I finished college and took a job in another town. Once, while visiting my parents, I used the phone in their bedroom, and noticed that the pickle jar was gone. It had served its purpose and had been removed. A lump rose in my throat as I stared at the spot beside the dresser where the jar had always stood. My dad was a man of few words, and never lectured me on the values of determination, perseverance, and faith. The pickle jar had taught me all these virtues far more eloquently than the most flowery of words could have done. When I married, I told my wife Susan about the significant part the lowly pickle jar had played in my life as a boy. In my mind, it defined, more than anything else, how much my dad had loved me. No matter how rough things got at home, Dad continued to doggedly drop his coins into the jar. Even the summer when Dad got laid off from the mill, and Mama had to serve dried beans several times a week, not a single dime was taken from the jar. To the contrary, as Dad looked across the table at me, pouring catsup over my beans to make them more palatable, he became more determined than ever to make a way out for me. "When you finish college, Son," he told me, his eyes glistening, "You'll never have to eat beans again - unless you want to." The first Christmas after our daughter Jessica was born, we spent the holiday with my parents. After dinner, Mom and Dad sat next to each other on the sofa, taking turns cuddling their first grandchild. Jessica began to whimper softly, and Susan took her from Dad's arms. "She probably needs to be changed," she said, carrying the baby into my parents' bedroom to diaper her. When Susan came back into the living room, there was a strange mist in her eyes. She handed Jessica back to Dad before taking my hand and leading me into the room. "Look," she said softly, her eyes directing me to a spot on the floor beside the dresser. To my amazement, there, as if it had never been removed, stood the old pickle jar, the bottom already covered with coins. I walked over to the pickle jar, dug down into my pocket, and pulled out a fistful of coins. With a gamut of emotions choking me, I dropped the coins into the jar. I looked up and saw that Dad, carrying Jessica, had slipped quietly into the room. Our eyes locked, and I knew he was feeling the same emotions I felt. Neither one of us could speak.

Whew, you made it. So now back to my story. When I graduated from high school, I did so with a 4.0 GPA, Valedictorian honors, and high ambitions to be President of the United States (seriously, I told the local paper I was going to be the President and my mom still thinks I should). The only college I wanted to go to was USU but I knew I had to get a scholarship to go, otherwise there wouldn't be any college for me. Every recruiter I talked to said with a 4.0 GPA that I wouldn't have any problems getting a scholarship. What they didn't tell me was that my ACT score was one point short of getting the academic scholarships (and that's after I took the stupid test three times). It was devastating to me. I had worked so hard and done everything they told me and now there was nothing I could do.

Then graduation night came. My Grandma and Grandpa Allen came over after the ceremony to celebrate. They also brought a surprise gift... my Grandma's "Coke" piggy bank. I remember as a kid being fascinated by the huge piggy bank, filled with pennies. My Grandma saves everything and pennies were no different. I always asked her how many were in there and if I could have it but she always said no. So when I saw my dad and Grandpa drag that 100+ lb. coin bank into the living room I was so excited! Then my grandparents handed me an envelope. I figured it was just a card but when I opened it, there was a check for my first semester's tuition and the phrase "Jenny Penny scholarship" on it. My whole family had saved enough money for me to go to college. Between the check and the pennies my entire first semester was taken care of. I cried and still cry when I think about how special this gift was. Especially now, knowing that I have fulfilled a life goal of getting a college education. I really can't believe it's finally over. When I graduated from USU it was so exciting because my whole goal was to just finish. My dad didn't finish college and neither did my mom and I remember thinking that I wanted to finish, no matter what happened or how hard it was, I was going to finish. Well, I did and now the excitement is more like relief, amazement, gratitude, and yes, thrilling! I know my parents are really proud of me and hopefully I've set a good example to my siblings that they can do it and it's worth every late night, test, and tuition payment. I just hope I can "pay it forward" for my own posterity and make their dreams come true just like my grandparents did. I can never repay them for their sacrifice and hope I've made them proud. Guess I need to start using more cash to buy stuff though, because the penny jar isn't nearly as full as when I got it!

As of 5:20 p.m.

I am done with grad school!!!!!!!

Oh, and I have just posted my 100th post! Could this day get any better?

Secret ingredients

Yesterday I was in the mood for either sweets or a desire to be wife of the year by baking, since I haven't done any cooking all week. Humph. Should have just stuck with the plans to do nothing. Pearl and I got out the good ole Kitchen Aid, measuring cups, flour, sugar, oats, measuring spoons, and everything else needed for peanut butter fingers. I gave Pearl her own set of baking utensils and decided to let her help with the dry ingredients. Uh, bad idea for me but great idea for Pearl. After flicking flour, baking soda, and oats on the floor, I decided it would do us all good if Pearl just made her own cookies. So I loaded her up with some extra oats, sugar, sprinkles (red, pink, and chocolate), a few spoons, and turned my back to the mess that followed. She had a great time. I'm not sure what happened to the real "cookies" as Pearl called them because when I went to pull them out of the oven, they sort of slid out of the pan. Urgh. So I kept baking and decided that with enough frosting, no one would notice the mishap. That plan worked ok until today when Jeff wanted a pizza for lunch. Three minutes after turning the oven on there was smoke everywhere! Now I had great intentions of cleaning the oven last night but one, figured we wouldn't use it today and two, didn't have any cleaning stuff for the oven. So I figured I'd clean it on Monday. I'm sure you can imagine Jeff's reaction to the billowing smoke and now stinky house but hey, I thought the treats were pretty good. Guess tomorrow's FHE will be spent scrubbing the oven and eating the rest of the peanut butter fingers.
Hmmm...it doesn't look like it but I really did comb Pearl's hair and scrub her face today.
Baking is such hard work and concentration as you can see by the lip biting.
These are the secret ingredients in Pearl's cookies. Yummy.Pearl kept asking for more "pink" (sprinkles) and when I wouldn't give her anymore, she took matters into her own hands and started finding other baking goods in our cupboards. I'm thinking it wasn't such a good idea to put everything on a shelf she can reach.
I love this picture! For some reason, Pearl liked blowing into her measuring cup but this time the sprinkles turned on her and she blew them into her eyes.
If you think this is bad, you should see the rest of the kitchen floor. Good thing we have a Dyson!