Page 8 - Good News November 2010 paper

he pickle jar as far back as I them more palatable, he became more determined than
can remember sat on the ever to make a way out for me. 'When you finish
Tfloor beside the dresser in College, Son,' he told me, his eyes glistening, 'You'll
my parents' bedroom. When he got never have to eat beans again - unless you want to.'
ready for bed, Dad would empty his The years passed, and I finished College and took a job
pockets and toss his coins into the in another town. Once, while visiting my parents, I used
jar. the phone in their bedroom, and noticed that the pickle
As a small boy, I was always jar was gone. It had served its purpose and had been
fascinated at the sounds the coins removed. A lump rose in my throat as I stared at the
made as they were dropped into spot beside the dresser where the jar had always
the jar. They landed with a merry stood. My dad was a man of few words: he never
jingle when the jar was almost lectured me on the values of determination, perse-
empty. Then the tones gradually verance, and faith. The pickle jar had taught me all
muted to a dull thud as the jar was these virtues far more eloquently than the most flowery
filled. of words could have done.
I used to squat on the floor in front When I married, I told my wife Susan about the
of the jar to admire the copper and significant part the lowly pickle jar had played in my life
silver circles that glinted like a as a boy. In my mind, it defined, more than anything
pirate's treasure when the sun else, how much my dad had loved me.
poured through the bedroom The first Christmas after our daughter Jessica was
window. When the jar was filled, born, we spent the holiday with my parents. After
Dad would sit at the kitchen table dinner, Mom and Dad sat next to each other on the sofa,
and roll the coins before taking taking turns cuddling their first grandchild. Jessica
them to the bank. began to whimper softly, and Susan took her from
Taking the coins to the bank was Dad's arms. 'She probably needs to be changed,' she
always a big production. Stacked said, carrying the baby into my parents' bedroom to
neatly in a small cardboard box, diaper her. When Susan came back into the living
the coins were placed between room, there was a strange mist in her eyes.
Dad and me on the seat of his old She handed Jessica back to Dad before taking my hand
truck. Each and every time, as we and leading me into the room. 'Look,' she said softly,
drove to the bank, Dad would look her eyes directing me to a spot on the floor beside the
at me hopefully. 'These coins are dresser. To my amazement, there, as if it had never
going to keep you out of the textile been removed, stood the old pickle jar, the bottom
mill, son. You're going to do better already covered with coins. I walked over to the pickle
than me. This old mill town is not jar, dug down into my pocket, and pulled out a fistful of
going to hold you back.' coins. With a gamut of emotions choking me, I dropped
Also, each and every time, as he the coins into the jar. I looked up and saw that Dad,
slid the box of rolled coins across carrying Jessica, had slipped quietly into the room.
the counter at the bank toward the Our eyes locked, and I knew he was feeling the same
cashier, he would grin proudly. emotions I felt. Neither one of us could speak. This
'These are for my son's College truly touched my heart.
fund. He'll never work at the mill all Sometimes we are so busy adding up our troubles that
his life like me.' We would always we forget to count our blessings. Never underestimate
celebrate each deposit by stop- the power of your actions. With one small gesture you
ping for an ice cream cone. I can change a person's life, for better or for worse. GOD
always got chocolate. Dad always PUTS US ALL IN EACH OTHER'S LIVES TO IMPACT
got vanilla. When the clerk at the ONE ANOTHER IN SOME WAY!
ice cream parlour handed Dad his - Selected
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.'
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
ketchup over my beans to make