One summer, a teenage cousin came to stay with us for a short time to help Dad at haying time and earn a little money in the process. Let’s call him Jack.
Since our family was using all of the bedrooms on the ground floor, Mom gave Jack one of the rooms upstairs to use while he was with us.
Monty and I usually didn’t go upstairs, but we must have followed Mom up there when she made the bed and tidied up. That’s when we discovered the penny jar on his dresser.
It was my brother who began teasing him that we were going to take the pennies in his penny jar when he was out helping Dad — and of course I chimed in.
Jack didn’t seem to have much of a sense of humor when it came to his money, which made it all the more tempting to tease him.
So, Jack told Mom that we said we were going to take his precious pennies. We weren’t of course, and Mom told him so.
I don’t think he took much comfort in that, though. He didn’t stay very long.
Jack is still alive, though I haven’t seen him in more than fifty years.
I sometimes wonder if he’s still guarding a penny jar somewhere — and if he’s still mad at two farm kids who never actually took a single penny.
Through My Eyes, Gently 