This is a true story every word.
I was raised a ragamuffin kid from another era. In most ways I still am. My mother before me perhaps more-so but my family lived almost a 19th century existence on the remote old family farm in New England. Of the four adults who lived with us in my childhood, three, neither my mother or her parents ever drove a car. I don’t believe my grandparents ever learned to use the telephone. My grandmother was named Mary Kate and she was from the “olde country” Cork, Ireland and was of course a devout Roman Catholic. So we went to church every Sunday religiously. Often on Sunday morning with no one to drive us we walked to St Patrick’s Church from the farm, a mile or so; mom four or five kids and our grandparents Dampa and Nanny.
I remember walking to church one particular late winter Sunday. It was one of those extra warm days when it almost hurt your eyes to look at the bright shimmering melting snow. I was perhaps four-and-a-half years old (seems I wasn’t school age yet) and wearing a hand-me-down maroon corduroy jacket that couldn’t have kept a jalapeño warm for three seconds. I remember it because it had bottomless pockets that had been destroyed by one or two of my brothers before me and my hands went right down inside the jacket for a little extra warmth.
Most every Sunday we were each given pennies, rarely a nickel, to put in the collection basket, the “poor box” at church. Mom told us that God helped poorer people than us with that money. I have never felt poor since then. My mother Nora Sysyn made us feel so good about giving that penny that to this day I cannot walk past a beggar or someone in need. I don’t know about the people God’s looking after.
But in the kid that was me there was always a pang of lament for the candy that penny could’ve got me. If we had a nickel or dime between the four of us boys it was a grand treat at Edmund’s Store after church. Money to us was coins only; a dime was quite a lot of money and a quarter was beyond our reach.
When the pole-basket was passed down the pews for collecting the tithing the parish fell dead silent. You could literally hear a pin drop with every gossipy prying eye trying to sneak a peak at who gave how much and who did not. The floors were hard tile. If someone dropped a coin with everybody in church watching their every move, they made no effort to fetch it, or even look after it. I had resurrected a few coins from oblivion by that age. But this day was to be different.
The church was heated by enormous cast iron radiators all along the inner walls, eight by four feet tall; at least they seemed so. They were the behemoths the priest was talking about. We were sitting, six or seven of us, about the fourth pew back from the front to the right side. Collection time came and sure enough somebody dropped a coin. It sounded heavy (I knew the sound of a quarter, dime, nickel and penny) and landed so that it began rolling on its edge. I could hear the changing tone as it moved along. It caught my eye and nobody else took notice of it or me, a tiny little guy down behind the pew. I’ll never forget Washington’s head spinning around as the quarter passed by and rolled out onto the open floor and right up under one of those big radiators, and I even heard the strange sound it made as it settled to the floor. I knew where it was!
Once a man is in his 60’s, he would have four times higher chances of suffering from impotence is 140 million around the world and this one thing is crushing the families more than anything else. cipla generic viagra There are a variety of different treatments, as far as sexual performance icks.org purchase cialis online is concerned. Treatment with healing mineral water; balneology treatment viagra no prescription cheap http://icks.org/n/data/conference/1482731615_report_file.pdf is a part of training in various European medical schools. Ketoconazole – This purchase cialis product not only contains the 5 alpha reductase inhibitor but it also contains anti fungal properties. There was a funny thing about church. When it was over the priest and other altar lackeys got up and exited stage right from the church. We all stood frozen for a minute while the priest made his way around outside to await his flock at the rear doors and exit. Then the doors were thrown open whereupon there would be a stampede out of the church as if it was on fire. On this day I noticed that right away because I was thinking how am I gonna get that quarter without anyone seeing me? And suddenly everybody was gone my family included, and nobody was looking back. I was alone in the church. I scooted over to the radiator, and slid my hand under it and over the floor where that quarter had gone. When I swept my hand out there were many coins in the ancient black gooey dirt! Nickels dimes pennies and quarters! I didn’t know what else to do so I scooped ‘em all up. I knew that was a good idea. Greed threatened to poison my karma for life. And I went for more; a future banker was being born? Scooping another handful I dumped them into my bottomless pockets. Several sweeps later and I’d cleaned out beneath the radiator. I ran out of the church and caught up with my family who were walking to Edmonds Store. Nobody suspected a thing! My hands were oily dirt black and I made some muddy slushy snowballs to clean them. I had grand visions. But when we got to the general store though tempted by the goods I was petrified about revealing my vast wealth. I’d robbed God!! I resisted the temptation and dared not buy anything.
We went home eventually after Sunday visits in town. And I had all this money. It certainly amounted to a few dollars; but I hadn’t learned to count yet so I don’t really know. I cleaned it and secreted it in a baby-food jar. Dollars!!
But alas I was like Midas. I couldn’t eat it. I really couldn’t tell anybody, because I would have to explain it. I had no excuse. I stole it from God. The only choice I had immediately was whether to go for more. So far no harm, so I did. A felony burglar aptitude was germinating within my shrinking soul. Remember I was four-and-a-half. I didn’t really know what I was doing.
The next Sunday in church I waited until the rush out the backdoor and successfully repeated the process with the nearest radiator. Another gold-mine! It was a miracle! It was magical. Avarice overwhelmed my tiny spirit. I was no more prepared than the first time but things pretty much went the same as always after that. The baby food jar proved too small to accommodate my growing treasure trove so I switched to large baby food jar…s. I almost remember taking my brother David into my confidence because he helped me secure the baby food jars and we transferred the money in the old attic room at the farm. But I’m not sure. I might have dreamed it.
One Sunday a particularly repentant parishioner felt the need to say (pray at) “The Stations of the Cross” which were pictures of Jesus enduring his torture execution, each one hung, inconveniently for me, between the radiators around the room and this one sinner said a long prayer in front of each. So I missed on that day. But there was always next week. How could I lose?
After a few Sunday scores I had cleaned out the radiators and had quite a stash of baby food jars full of money and nobody knew. I’m sure I never managed to spend one nickel. I hid the jars several times and I believe finally buried them in the sawdust pile out at the woodshed and couldn’t find them again. I think I lost interest when the treasure hunt was over and that was the day I lost interest in money. I wasn’t yet five years old.
I’ve been poor ever since.
