The Pickle Jar (a fathers day story) OT

[Guest guest]

The pickle jar as far back as I can remember sat on the floor

beside the dresser in my parents' bedroom. When he got ready for

bed, Dad would empty his pockets and toss his coins into the jar.

As a small boy I was always fascinated at the sounds the coins

made as they were dropped into the jar.

They landed with a merry jingle when the jar was almost empty.

Then the tones gradually muted to a dull thud as the jar was filled.

I used to squat on the floor in front of the jar and admire the

copper and silver circles that glinted like a pirate's treasure

when the sun poured through the bedroom window.

When the jar was filled, Dad would sit at the kitchen table

and roll the coins before taking them to the bank.

Taking the coins to the bank was always a big production. Stacked

neatly in a small cardboard box, the coins were placed between

Dad and me on the seat of his old truck.

Each and every time, as we drove to the bank, Dad would look at me

hopefully. " Those coins are going to keep you out of the textile

mill, son. You're going to do better than me. This old mill town's

not going to hold you back. "

Also, each and every time, as he slid the box of rolled coins across

the counter at the bank toward the cashier, he would grin proudly.

" These are for my son's college fund. He'll never work at the mill

all his life like me. "

We would always celebrate each deposit by stopping for an ice cream

cone. I always got chocolate. Dad always got vanilla. When the clerk

at the ice cream parlor handed Dad his 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. "

The years passed, and I finished college and took a job in another

town. Once, while visiting my parents, I used the phone in their

bedroom, and noticed that the pickle jar was gone. It had served

its purpose and had been removed.

A lump rose in my throat as I stared at the spot beside the dresser

where the jar had always stood. My dad was a man of few words, and

never lectured me on the values of determination, perseverance, and

faith. The pickle jar had taught me all these virtues far more

eloquently than the most flowery of words could have done.

When I married, I told my wife about the significant part the

lowly pickle jar had played in my life as a boy. In my mind, it

defined, more than anything else, how much my dad had loved me.

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 catsup over my

beans to make them more palatable, he became more

determined than ever to make a way out for me.

" When you finish college, Son, " he told me,

his eyes glistening, " You'll never have to eat beans again...

unless you want to. "

The first Christmas after our daughter was born, we spent

the holiday with my parents. After dinner, Mom and Dad sat

next to each other on the sofa, taking turns cuddling their first

grandchild. began to whimper softly, and took

her from Dad's arms.

" She probably needs to be changed, " she said, carrying the

baby into my parents' bedroom to diaper her. When

came back into the living room, there was a strange mist in

her eyes. She handed back to Dad before taking my

hand and leading me into the room. " Look, " she said softly,

her eyes directing me to a spot on the floor beside the dresser.

To my amazement, there, as if it had never been removed,

stood the old pickle jar, the bottom already covered with coins.

I walked over to the pickle jar, dug down into my pocket, and

pulled out a fistful of coins. With a gamut of emotions

choking me, I dropped the coins into the jar.

I looked up and saw that Dad, carrying , had slipped

quietly into the room. Our eyes locked, and I knew he

was feeling the same emotions I felt. Neither one of us could speak.

This truly touched my heart... I know it has yours as well.

Sometimes we are so busy adding up our troubles that we forget to

count our blessings.

Never underestimate the power of your actions. With one small

gesture you can change a person's life, for better or for worse.

God puts us all in each other's lives to impact one another in some

way. Look for God in others.

in Canada

340lbs BMI 55.8 -139lbs

Dr Grace Open RNY

Life began May 16, 2002

I have heard your prayer, I have seen your tears. Surely..I will

heal you. " 2 Kings 20:5