The pickle jar Part 1

FrankChastain · 07-09-2012, 05:37 AM

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 to 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 tableand 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.'

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.'

FrankChastain · 07-09-2012, 05:57 AM

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: he 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 Susan 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.

The first Christmas after our daughter Jessica 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. Jessica began to whimper
softly, and Susan 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 Susan came back
into the living room, there was a strange mist in her eyes.

She handed Jessica 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 Jessica, 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. 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 GOOD in others..

The best and most beautiful things cannot be seen or
touched - they must be felt with the heart ~ Helen Keller

Stewart Way · 07-09-2012, 12:32 PM

Frank
This story made me think of my Father and his determination that my sister and I have a college education. He was born and raised in the woods of NB Canada. Typical 1 room schoolhouse that went to the 10th grade. When he graduated he took a course in diesel and moved 150 miles away to work for his eventual father in law. WWII came along and in 39 he joined the RCAF and became a fighter pilot. After the war he married my mother and went into business for himself and also did crop dusting in Maine after immigrating for a "better life". When my sister and I came along, he sold the plane, sold the business and got a "good" job so he could put us thru college. There was never a question if my sister and I would go to college, only where.
My parents saved all they could. We didn't have a second car until I was 12 even though he would sometimes travel a month at a time and then home a few days, but by the time I was 12 they had paid the house off. We walked or taxied to the store and where ever else we needed to go.
My father did well. By the time college came along he didn't have to dip into the savings, just pay as we went.
Once my sister and I graduated college (70 and 72) he started to spend a little. Bought a ski boat, traveled a lot, and after retiring in 1981 spent 2-3 months a year at the old homestead in Canada.
He passed away in 1999 but we still have the old place in Canada and the wife, kids and grandkids will be going up for a stay again this summer. The rest of the family fly up and I pull an inclosed trailer with 4 wheelers, golf cart, canoe, toys and luggage. Mom doesn't go up anymore. At 87 she doesn't like to travel. My son and I are currently restoring the old boat. Its nothing special but we'll keep it anyway.
I don't have a pickle jar but when the first grandchild was born we set up an account so that hopefully they will have the same chance I did. Thanks mon and dad.

FrankChastain · 07-09-2012, 01:50 PM

Stewart, thanks for the great story. There are probably 100's out there and a friend of mine sent the pickle jar one to me. Don't have a clue if it is true but, well worth reading anyway....Frank

Dick Butler · 07-09-2012, 02:26 PM

Growing up my Moms family of 4 brothers were always visiting my grandparents who lived less than a mile from our house. Each Uncle took turns "going for a walk" around the neighborhood with me. Each talking about school, what subjects did I like and always encouraging me to get a college education. One who was a Ph D. encouraged me to become an M.D. so I could do research, teach or practice Medicine as I loved Science.
All of them are gone now but I always knew their motive and appreciated their encouragement. I retired from Medicine a year ago and it is a very satisfying memory of my career and family. Now it has been my turn to encourage higher education and it has produced several more motivated family students.....

07-09-2012, 05:37 AM	#1
FrankChastain Senior Member Join Date: Mar 2009 Location: Trussville, Alabama-Originally from Vidalia,GA Posts: 642 Likes: 10 Liked 3 Times in 3 Posts	The pickle jar Part 1 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 to 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 tableand 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.' 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.'

07-09-2012, 05:57 AM	#2
FrankChastain Senior Member Join Date: Mar 2009 Location: Trussville, Alabama-Originally from Vidalia,GA Posts: 642 Likes: 10 Liked 3 Times in 3 Posts	Re: The pickle jar Part 2 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: he 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 Susan 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. The first Christmas after our daughter Jessica 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. Jessica began to whimper softly, and Susan 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 Susan came back into the living room, there was a strange mist in her eyes. She handed Jessica 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 Jessica, 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. 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 GOOD in others.. The best and most beautiful things cannot be seen or touched - they must be felt with the heart ~ Helen Keller

07-09-2012, 12:32 PM	#3
Stewart Way Member Join Date: Aug 2003 Location: Atlanta Posts: 475 Likes: 15 Liked 70 Times in 21 Posts	Re: The pickle jar Part 1 Frank This story made me think of my Father and his determination that my sister and I have a college education. He was born and raised in the woods of NB Canada. Typical 1 room schoolhouse that went to the 10th grade. When he graduated he took a course in diesel and moved 150 miles away to work for his eventual father in law. WWII came along and in 39 he joined the RCAF and became a fighter pilot. After the war he married my mother and went into business for himself and also did crop dusting in Maine after immigrating for a "better life". When my sister and I came along, he sold the plane, sold the business and got a "good" job so he could put us thru college. There was never a question if my sister and I would go to college, only where. My parents saved all they could. We didn't have a second car until I was 12 even though he would sometimes travel a month at a time and then home a few days, but by the time I was 12 they had paid the house off. We walked or taxied to the store and where ever else we needed to go. My father did well. By the time college came along he didn't have to dip into the savings, just pay as we went. Once my sister and I graduated college (70 and 72) he started to spend a little. Bought a ski boat, traveled a lot, and after retiring in 1981 spent 2-3 months a year at the old homestead in Canada. He passed away in 1999 but we still have the old place in Canada and the wife, kids and grandkids will be going up for a stay again this summer. The rest of the family fly up and I pull an inclosed trailer with 4 wheelers, golf cart, canoe, toys and luggage. Mom doesn't go up anymore. At 87 she doesn't like to travel. My son and I are currently restoring the old boat. Its nothing special but we'll keep it anyway. I don't have a pickle jar but when the first grandchild was born we set up an account so that hopefully they will have the same chance I did. Thanks mon and dad. __________________ Stewart Way 2424 SS

07-09-2012, 01:50 PM	#4
FrankChastain Senior Member Join Date: Mar 2009 Location: Trussville, Alabama-Originally from Vidalia,GA Posts: 642 Likes: 10 Liked 3 Times in 3 Posts	Re: The pickle jar Part 1 *Stewart, thanks for the great story. There are probably 100's out there and a friend of mine sent the pickle jar one to me. Don't have a clue if it is true but, well worth reading anyway....Frank*

07-09-2012, 02:26 PM	#5
Dick Butler VIP Member Join Date: Oct 2002 Location: Richmond Indiana Posts: 1,197 Likes: 5 Liked 32 Times in 19 Posts	Re: The pickle jar Part 1 Growing up my Moms family of 4 brothers were always visiting my grandparents who lived less than a mile from our house. Each Uncle took turns "going for a walk" around the neighborhood with me. Each talking about school, what subjects did I like and always encouraging me to get a college education. One who was a Ph D. encouraged me to become an M.D. so I could do research, teach or practice Medicine as I loved Science. All of them are gone now but I always knew their motive and appreciated their encouragement. I retired from Medicine a year ago and it is a very satisfying memory of my career and family. Now it has been my turn to encourage higher education and it has produced several more motivated family students.....