When
I was about six or seven years of age, my dad gave me and my brother and sister
each a silver dollar. The one he handed to me bore the date 1890. I don't
remember what happened to the coins he gave my brother and sister, but I
carried mine in my pocket. I liked the feel of it there, and took it out to
inspect it several times a day. I grew to love that coin and carried it for
well over a month.
One day my dad came down
the stairs dressed to go out, and asked whether I still had the silver dollar.
I confirmed that I did, and drew it from my pocket. He told me we didn’t have
any money, but needed milk, and asked for the silver dollar. I obediently handed it
to him.
Over the next few weeks,
I missed the silver dollar, but learned a lesson: life goes on despite losing
something that meant something to me. Soon I was caught up in the adventures
that capture the imagination of a young boy, and forgot about it.
A couple of months
later, it was Christmas. My brother, sister, and I opened our presents while
sitting on the floor near the sparkling tree. Afterward we remembered our
stockings. I reached into the one bearing my name, and pulled out a few small
treats and trinkets that were like my siblings.
Then my dad told me I
missed something in my stocking, and suggested I reach all the way to its
bottom. I soon pulled out a coin--a silver dollar. I turned it over, and saw
that the date was 1890. Further, I recognized the scratches on the coin's face,
and realized it was the same one I had handed Dad months before.
It became apparent that
after he had been paid, Dad returned to the store and bought back the silver
dollar I had given him.
Many times small, seemingly
insignificant things create lasting impressions, and so it was with my 1890
silver dollar. It was a wonderful Christmas. I no longer remember the presents
I received that year, but will never forget the consideration, sensitivity, and
thoughtfulness a dad had for his young son on that Christmas morning.
Thanks Dad
Your son, Roger
 |
| Stanley Hayes |
