The Skunk River Review - DMACC

the jar for the next time and then filled the chipped basin in the sink with water. He removed his
glases revealing big white rings around his eyes. He looked like a bandit who had just lost his
mask.
He leaned over the basin scrubbing his face, hands, and his arms clear to the edge of his
short-sleeved shirt. As he washed, his sleeves were pushed up slightly, revealing his farmer’s tan.
He rubbed a bar of Lava soap around his neck and behind his ears. When he finished, he pulled
an old navy colored towel from a hook and dried his face while he called, “Ma, come here and look
to see if my ears are clean.” Dutifully, my mother dropped her meal preparations and went to look
at Dad’s ears. “Dad,” she would say a she pulled his ears forward, “you have nough dirt there to
plant corn.” She would yank his ears this way and that, as without mercy; she then used an old
rag to dig dirt from every crevice in his ear.
Supper was served promptly as soon as Dad was ready. Gravy was poured in the serving
bowl, meat and potatoes were set on the table and the meal began. Food was passed and plates
were to be cleaned. No one took more than they could eat.
Dad always sat in his spot on the dilapidated couch in our living room while I helped
Mom wash and dry the dishes. Without fail, Dad called, “Little girl, come here.” Dad would reach
his large hand into his overall pocket and bring out buried treasure. Among a multitude of
matches, a nail, a stick of gum, several toothpicks, a cough drop and field dirt was his pocket
change. I would dig through the debris looking for pennies. Usually there weren’t many, but
always we looked. “How many did you find, little girl?” I would count out the number and carry
my pennies in my clinched fist to the tall dresser in my parent’s room. I climbed the step stool and
stretched to the very back of the dresser to drop the precious pennies in Mom’s flower vase.
When the vase was sufficiently full, Dad would help me get the vase down and carry it to
the kitchen table. I would carefully dump the contents on the white enamel table. The coins
would spread across the table clattering as they fell. Dad would supervise as I counted stacks of
ten. Five stacks would make a roll. Dad would supervise as I counted stacks of ten. Five stacks
would make a roll. Dad would balance a penny inside the roll and I would carefuly add my
stacks until the fifty pennies were inside. We sealed the ends and repeated the procedure. Two
rolls made a dollar. Eleven rolls! I was rich! The rolls went back in the vase and would later be
added to my bank account.
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