Face Value - Feb 27 2023

 

Face Value

Feb 27 2023

I have few mementos of my father.

A painting

that hung in his office.

A paperweight from his desk.

A tall glass tumbler

filled with coins he saved,

the silver dollars

that despite their precious metal

are still a hundred cents

at the corner store.

Not paper, but solid.

Something that lasts,

has intrinsic worth,

retains its value well.

Constant

just like him.

So I understand

why he collected these,

not stamps

or baseball cards.

Why he couldn't just spend

like regular loose change.

Admittedly, this is an oddly utilitarian thing

to be remembered by.

They may be finely crafted coins

and have a satisfying heft,

but still

there's nothing sentimental about them.

Except that was also him.

Dutiful.

Good at business.

Tough,

but not in a macho way;

more steady, determined, righteous.

So not a hugger,

and not at all the sort to say

“I love you”.

Which I never heard, growing up.

A word

that even my mother found hard.

But what else can one expect

when they themselves were raised that way

in a very different age.

Because eventually

we all grow up to be our parents,

no matter how hard we resist.

And anyway

actions speak louder than words.

The silver dollars

are in my line of sight

right now.

Turns out

they have appreciated over the years.

Substantially.

A good investment,

a prudent legacy.

And all I can think

is how pleased he would be.

As the poem says, the glass is directly in my line of sight as I write this. I didn't have to move an inch to get this shot.

As the photo clearly shows, I took some poetic license: the contents of his desk included a lot of random change as well.

When these came to me after his death (and thanks to the hard work of my brother and sister-in-law) this is all I could think to do. Spending the stuff seems mercenary and disrespectful. A memento in a clear glass tumbler, on the other hand, contains so much more.