When I was in sixth grade, my dad added a new hobby to his resume. He became a coin collector. I don't know how he managed it, but every night after dinner he would have a pocketful of change to put on the table. Out would come his magnifying glass and some reference material. Each coin would be carefully examined and sorted. He ultimately had some interesting collections, such as pennies and nickels from every year.
I learned several lessons from watching my dad count pennies through three decades. First, I saw that one is never too told to start something new. Because my parents had me late in life, my perception of them always had been that they were old, and here he was taking up something new. Now, he would have been in his mid-fifties when he became a numismatist, so perhaps it is due to this that I started exploring the artistic side of myself and took so many art classes at that time in my own life.
Taking advantage of another one of his interests, he built boxes to store and to showcase various treasures. From that I saw what it was to integrate important pieces of who we are. While there can be a need to compartmentalize areas of our lives, we can also seek to blend them. When company came over he was anxious to bring out his latest creation, eager to have others share in his interest, and, I think, to be affirmed. His self esteem was low, mostly due to having to drop out of school after the 8th grade to help on the farm. Because my father was well loved, I saw most people patiently give him accolades for his accomplishment and passion.
Sometimes he let me help him sort and catalog, so I experienced a pleasure in a joint activity and learned that we do not have to always do things that bring us joy on our own. Up until this new hobby I never saw my dad read anything other than the newspaper, but soon different magazines appeared on the table by his chair. I saw that we may need to invest more than time to develop an interest and that we need to learn and study.
When he could no longer enjoy or safely operate his saw and tools on his workbench or hold a paintbrush steady, he could still count pennies. Each time my parents came to visit I had a couple of jars filled with coins, and it was my dining room table he then sat at to sort and package, even though his hands shook from Parkinson's disease. I saw sadness and triumph when he completed a roll of 50 pennies and folded the flaps.
His most exciting find was a 1941 dime that, due to a die printing error, had a 2 over the 1. He cherished the thrill of that discovery for several years and then sold it for more than $300 and bought my mother a mink stole. From that I saw that often it is better to use and to share rather than to hoard. I also learned to keep trying because there might be a surprise in the next coin examined. As I look back, I see that you never know what you are modeling to the next generation. I know that he would chuckle to read that I learned something more than just about coin collecting by watching him all those years.
You might have thought that I was going to talk about how concerned I am that those in charge of our state and country are men who may be able to read a Profit & Loss statement but who never personally had to count pennies in order to meet their monthly bills and who appear to have no empathy for those who must do that all their lives. That was too obvious.
Marilyn
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