“Remember Daddy, you said that we would count the money in my piggy bank.”
This is what my daughter said to me this morning after I sat down in my office to plan my day. “Remember, I said to remind me BEFORE you go to bed” as I tried to put it off to no avail. “Okay, go get your piggy bank” I said to her as she stood nearby. In the blink of an eye, a little brown streak shot up the stairs to retrieve its precious cargo. The only way I knew it was her was the sound of little feet that could be heard from the wall in the office.
When she returned, in her hands was her pink plastic piggy bank that have been through more moves than I can remember. “Go get Daddy a butter knife” I said to her as she walked into the kitchen. Unable to find one, I then asked her to get me a sharp knife. “Remember, hold the point down.” With knife in hand (pointed down), my little brown angel brought me the tool needed to open her little treasure chest of money she had miraculously kept for some time since she was about two. As I popped off the cap on the bottom, all it took were a few shakes along with some prodding of the knife to cause all of her money to flow like a mini waterfall onto the carpet. Now for the fun part: counting.
As I began to count her money, I could not help but remember back in my own childhood how pocket change (especially quarters) were really such a big deal to other kids my age. While my parents saw pocket change as nothing more than toll money for the bridge, I saw it as a key to fun and excitement in the brave new world of computer arcade games.
Long before malls became a serious trend in the northeast, if a kid wanted to play an arcade game, he/she would have to go to either the nearest diner or corner store. I remember the days when there was a line to play games like Space Invaders, Moon Patrol or Duck Hunt. I can still smell the odors of pizza and hoagies being made in the back of the store as my friends and I fought like mad to beat each other’s score. I can even taste all of those cherry slurpies mixed with cola we used to drink while watching each other play (which by the way was paid for by our pocket change budget).
“Yo, man! All I need is 15 more cents for some twinkies.” Who got it?
“Ahh, thanks man. I’ll get you next time.”
By the time arcades became mainstream, the value of a quarter to most kids matched that of gold. Like some kind of homeless person, I remember searching between machines hoping to find quarters that were dropped. Sometimes I got lucky, other times I did not.
From time to time the competition between my friends and I on certain games became very fierce. Who would have imagined that a quarter could be the “make it or break it” instrument for popularity? As I became older, life began to redirect my pocket change from arcade games to NJ Turnpike toll operators.
Fast forward now some years later and now I am married with two very small children. We just received word that my position with a non-profit has ended due to budget issues and I am stuck in a over $2000 per month payment in Pasadena, California. With just enough left over to make our last rent payment, we are faced with the fact that we need gas money for our gas-guzzling Ford Aerostar and money for food. Faced with no other options, my wife reaches for a butter knife out of the kitchen to do what I never thought we would do–take the piggy bank money from our children. I hated having to do this so much so that I eagerly tried to come up with other options to no avail. For what later to prove to be the beginning of a long wilderness season for our family, it was pocket change that kept us until we were able to get some money from other limited sources.
“Whew! Okay, you have $25.02 cents!” My little brown angel looked at all the change spread over the carpet thinking that she had just inherited a huge fortune after hearing the total.
Yes, my dear. You have inherited a fortune. Spend it well.
“Daddy, can you help me count my money?” said my son. (sigh!) Sure, son.
Grand total for him: $39.40
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