My Guest Author today is my sister who is just two years older than me. She shares her memories and some of mine. You might recognize her from the blog “Cross Country” and might learn more about her as our journey continues in other stories.
A dollar is a dollar is a dollar – you might say.
I beg to differ.
Some people start a new business and tape or frame the first dollar they earn on the wall for all to see. I’ve had several businesses but I always had to spend my first dollar! They never got put up on a wall!
But the first dollar I remember having was a gift from my Montana grandmother. Gommie, who was separated from us because of Daddy’s long move to Georgia to get his education and then to serve in the ministry, would give the grandkids a special gift when we visited. She would give us a silver dollar.
I had in my collection 2 or 3 which I saved in an old tin and nested in an old Bull Durham tobacco bag I had saved from my Grandfather (Daddy Bee). We used to hate his old tobacco smoking habit, but we loved his Prince Albert cans and Bull Durham bags. When I was six we moved and my mom, who had been keeping my treasures in her underwear drawer, apparently forgot about the silver dollars. They got moved but they didn’t get returned to me! This was totally unlike my mom who seemed to remember EVERYTHING! When I asked for them she didn’t remember having them. I was crushed. At the time, it wasn’t the value of the dollar that crushed me. Or even the value of the silver. It was the value of the memory that was attached. My Montana Gommie had given ME those dollars and I was far, far way from her! Those dollars were a connection to her!!
Living in Georgia just down the road from us was my other set of grandparents. Grandma and Daddy Bee. It was such a delight to have them close by. Grandma B was a good cook. I could eat a whole pumpkin pie at one sitting! (She never let me). She would freeze peaches sprinkled with sugar. Sometimes she’d get them out of the freezer and we’d get to eat them. There’s really nothing as good as a real Georgia peach with a few ice crystals and sugar on them! But her cooking is a story for another time.
Daddy B had a barn we loved to play in. He would carry his calves to the barn and weigh them to check on their growth. When we can weigh 100 pounds, he told us, he would give us a dollar!
I asked what would happen if I lost some weight and then made it to 100 pounds again. Daddy Bee laughed and said it was a one time deal! So I didn’t bother passing up Grand B’s cooking.
I spent that dollar but I never forgot it. It was a symbol of growing up, attaining maturity. Looking big in my granddaddy’s eyes.
Wow. Now that’s worth working towards! We would get on the old barn scales and get weighed. Seventy-five pounds. Eighty pounds. Ninety-five pounds. I was wondering if Grandma B would let me eat a whole pie and help me get to my goal! Finally I got to 100 pounds and I got my dollar. That was a happy day. A milestone.
When sister Sheri was going through Daddy’s and Mama’s things, she found the old tin and the old Bull Durham bag. I have two silver dollars again that I keep separate from some of the ones I have purchased over the years. Why are they separate? I don’t have Gommie here on the planet anymore. But I still have a connection called memories, love, and a dollar.
How sweet!