Little fingers measure the width of the silver circles, naming them torter, nickle, dym, placing them gently in their respective piles. Lips screw in concentration under the glare of his eyes tallying his bounty.
Is it enuf dad?
Fresh clipped limbs, thin and green, adorned in sprouting leaves surround the base of the bushes around my parents house. Scratches create plaid designs across the back of my hands, another load pushed into the wheel barrow, ready to cart around to the burn pile. Back and forth, the vision of the Starlog magazine featuring Star Wars getting smaller and smaller in my eight year old mind, with each clomp of the sheers and avalanche of limbs that would need to be removed in order to earn it. Overwhelming tears pull from their containment in my eyes as I drop my load and run to bury my head in the couch.
Is it enuf dad?
For me it was $1.75 magazine. For Cole it was an $8 used video game.
There used to be a day when people would barely need an excuse to run the hard plastic card through the little machine and paying enough interest to buy the same merchandise twice over. Maybe one good thing about the recession is it seems to have slowed everyone down to think about how we spend our money.
Our first year of marriage, we were drowning in debt, fighting to keep afloat by climbing on top of each other. Standing in line, staring at the brown curling linoleum tiles, with my stereo in one hand and my golf clubs in the other and hoping they were going to give me enuf to pay the light bill, cured me of ever wanting to be there again. This is what I hope my boys learn without ever having to be there, as they save their torters.
Cole's smile could have lit the strip in Vegas today as he counted out the torters in front of the lady behind the cash register. Seeing him be diligent in saving, avoiding temptation and finally reach his goal, mine could have powered a small nation.