Ran some errands today. When I got home, I dug into my pocket, grabbed the change, and, as always, was about to throw it in what we used to call the “penny jar” (since expanded to nickels and dimes).
But something caught my eye. Four shiny pennies. And for some reason, I flashed back to one of my uncles, who, whenever he saw me, would say, “Hey boy, I have a bright shiny penny for you.” (For some reason, many older relatives called me “Boy.” I’m sure they knew my name. Well, pretty sure.)
I still pick a penny up when I see one on the ground because, as you know, it brings good luck.
But when did it change?
Had the penny completely lost its value to me?
Clearly not. Because those four pennies gave me an unforeseen moment to remember a really nice man.
Whether he knew my name or not.