Leaving a comment for Zanzibar provided the impetus for this entry.

When I was little, I frequently went to my grandparents' house after school since it was so much closer to my school than my own house was. (My school was over 15 miles away from my house.) Also, both of my parents worked until around 5:00, so picking me up from school was out of the question. That responsibility fell to my grandparents, who were more like a second set of parents to me than what most people would associate with grandparents.

One fall afternoon when I was in the third grade, I had finished my homework relatively early. Finding the television to be a bit of a bore for once, and not finding any appeal in going to the backyard only to have the old plum tree drop its shriveling, overripe fruit on my head, I walked into my grandparents room. On a whim, I decided to go into the closet and explore. (I had just finished reading The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe so closets and the sort were highly intriguing to my active imagination.) Upon reaching the back of the closet, I found no snow-covered magical lands of wonder. Much to my disappointment, there was just a wall in the back of the closet, with several purses hanging from hooks.

Feeling a bit mischievous, I decided to reach into each of the purses. Maybe there would be some candy? Gum? A dollar with which to buy ice cream when the ice cream man came around later that day (Ice cream sandwich, here I come!)? All I came across, however, was more disappointment: lint, a hairbrush, crumpled up gum wrappers (OH, so close!) and other assorted paper wastes... nothing exciting. I came to the end of the line of purses--oh PLEASE let me find something worthwhile!--and as I opened the last purse, I will admit I was feeling more than a little pessimistic. What would I find this time? Used toothpick? Old lipstick? Melted cough drop?

My fingers desperately explored the interior of the bag, feeling along the silky lining for anything that would make this little foray into women's accessories the least bit rewarding. Just as I was about to give up hope, I felt something cold. Metallic. A quarter? No, it was too big for a quarter. A Filipino coin, I bet. 20 pesos to the dollar? That wouldn't be worth it.

Curiousity got the better of me, so I pulled it out of the purse and left the closet behind. Under the light, I began to make out what the coin was. It was a little strange, unlike anything I'd ever seen. On the obverse face was a woman in a long, flowing robe, holding up a shield. On the reverse, an eagle. An eagle? Does that mean it's American? Well, it does say "United States of America" on it. But I'd never seen this coin before. Is it even real? I began to search for a date on the coin.

1843.

1843?!

I ran out of the room, through the hallway, and into the poorly lit kitchen. My grandmother was chopping up tomatoes. She didn't look at me as I entered; she continued to focus on preparing dinner.

I started to talk in a hushed, yet hurriedly excited voice. "Mama? I found this coin in your purse and it's really old! Can I have it?" I knew it was a longshot, but it never hurts to ask.

She looked up from the cutting board and took one look at the coin. I thought she was going to chew me out for going through her stuff, but she surprised me. She said yes.

I looked at the coin in my hands and smiled. It was my treasure. Mine. And my grandmother--she gave it to me.

A few years later, a coin convention came into town, so I decided to get my dad to take me. We bought A Guide Book of United States Coins, which listed all the coins ever minted in the U.S. and their approximate values. I flipped through the pages eagerly to see what my treasure was worth.

$35.

To be honest, I was expecting a bit more. At least three digits, if not four. I mean, I knew my coin wasn't in perfect condition, but it was old. And old stuff is always expensive, right?

But I began to think about the coin some more, and realized it was worth so much more than I was even hoping for. This coin--my treasure, my precious, my secret and private silver Narnia--was worth the love of my grandmother. And more than that, I began to wonder about the coin. How did my grandmother end up with it anyway if she came to the states in the 1970s? Whose hands did it pass through? What sorts of transactions was this coin involved in? And for the first time in my life, I felt small. I felt humbled by the history of this particular artifact. I felt myself becoming aware of the vastness and interconnectedness of the world. And even though I felt tiny and insignificant, I knew I wasn't.

Lately, I've been taking the coin out of its hiding place and looking at it. I hold it in the palm of my hand and it is smaller than I remember it, but just as cold and just as surprisingly heavy. Every time I see it, I am reminded that we are all very small, but very important. Every time I see it, I am reminded that in this increasingly globalized and impersonal economy, the basic human currency is still love and understanding. It changes hands every day and makes its way around this large world--across huge expanses of land and vast undulating oceans. It passes through the pockets and purses of people who feel just as small as we do.

But the next time you have some of this currency coming your way, take a moment to let it sink in. When your grandmother gives you a present, or when your cousin sends you a birthday card, or when your best friend gives you a hug--let it steep. Let it become a part of you, and then tell me:

How incredibly big does it make you feel?

wow, I've never really thought of currency that way. I've seen some old coins, but never that old and I never thought much about it. hmm. I'm slightly intrigued. I'm pretty sure I'll find myself looking at dates on some coins now.
» LostSoul13 on 2007-01-13 01:17:40

Wow.. You reminded me of my late grandfather. I do keep some old notes but they're yet to have a value more than it is stated there. Maybe later in life.. It always make me feel bing to receive something from friends and family because I'm not always the one they give things too.
» Nuttz on 2007-01-13 05:48:42

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