Pocket Change

Pocket Change. I'm talking pennies nickels and dimes, Quarters and Half Dollars. Pocket Change. The fractions of the dollars we spend everyday. the insignificant little discs of metal that we can't be bothered to pick up when a couple slip between our fingers because we're in a rush. After all it's just change right?

     That's what I thought for the longest time, till I had an epiphany. You see, my father owns a dry cleaning business and a laundromat. and his income is generated by the pocket change of people who want clean clothes.I realized that every cent my parents spent on me was made from those insignificant quarters nickels and dimes. My parent's broke their backs to raise me up, by the sweat of their brow and the tears from their eyes they made sure I got an education, three square meals a day and a roof over my head. I remember my never had a problem buying me any type of food, as long as I ate it all. I learned to be a bit more understanding, I rarely asked for candy or toys, I knew my parents couldn't always afford it, and i didn't want them to be put in that position where they had to tell me "no", and I hated being disappointing so I usually avoided the situation at all possible. I remember going to ToysRus and playing with every toy I could for the entire day before my dad would tell me to get in the car and go home. It sucked having to put down that last toy and not be able to take it home. I remember the pain in my mom's eyes as i put away a GI Joe i wanted for so long because money was tight sometimes.

     We weren't dirt poor, but by no means were we rich either. I never got to have new clothes all the time, or the freshest kicks. Hell I didn't get a N64 until EVERY OTHER KID in my neighborhood did and moved on to the Play station. Never once did I hold that against my parents, we just didn't have the money, and that was that. I remember I used to hate telling people what my dad's occupation was, between his difficulty speaking English, the stereotypical job, and the idea that he made money cleaning other peoples soiled clothes made me ashamed as a kid.My friend's parents had cool jobs, like being an Attorney, or a Doctor, or a Cop( which i still think is kinda awesome, minus the whole FUCK YOU, I can give tickets" attitude).

     I remember I would never tell him about career day, because i was embarrassed that he would make me look stupid, I'd be known as the kid whose dad couldn't speak English, and had a shameful job. The first day I got my license my dad asked me to do a favor and exchange some coins for cash at TD Bank, I looked in my Ford Explorer and saw a 50 lb. tub full of coins, I was so Embarrassed at what people would think of me when i lugged in that bucket of coins that i actually visited 4 different banks and cashed the coins that way. I was so embarrassed at my dad. I never told him how I felt.

      I'm older now, and I hope a little bit smarter. I realize that actually My dad has the most fucking Awesome job in the God damn Universe, He has enough self resolve to swallow his pride and work a job that he never wanted to do He has the brass balls to handle a man's dirty clothes and under garments smile to his face and take his money, he sweats during the summer, to the point where he needs to bring an extra set of clothes everyday. The steam raises the Ambient temperature to 110+, In the Winter he freezes, he feels the cold winter chill everyday, we can't afford to raise the heat and keep the boiler running all day you see. Whenever Shit breaks, which it always does because our machines are old and very temperamental he needs to get down under heavy machines and get covered in dirty water and sludge while fixing sensitive electronic parts and dangerous metal bits. frankly when he's done fixing it, he smells like garbage. Even though I have the technical know how and i am stronger than he is, he still won't let me fix the machines. He doesn't want me to dirty my clothes and myself. that man is selfless to the end.

     He asks me every time I'm home to deposit buckets of change. One day as I was leaving to do so he said something that stopped me in my tracks. "I'm sorry if I ever embarrassed you because of my job, It's the only thing I know how to do here in America". The look on his face, I couldn't describe it to you for all the money in the world, but the closest i could get to it would be a mix of disappointment and failure. It CLICKED in my head that he was just as embarrassed about his job as I was when i was a kid. Dad there's not a damn thing you need to apologize for, you worked yourself so fuckin' hard, so that I could have a decent future.

     When I go to deposit change now i consistently go to the one bank closest to me, I look around as the coin sorting machine digests the heavy metal i force feed down its gullet. It's loud and OBNOXIOUS (kinda like me) , I love it.  The machine becomes full and a disgruntled employee has to grudgingly open the machine up and exchange coin receptacles and lug the full ones to the vault. People ask me what is it that I do that generates so many pounds of change all the time, I look at them proudly and tell 'em My dad owns a laundromat and a dry cleaners. I'm not embarrassed anymore, since I've gotten older, I've become proud of my dad's career choice, He's an honest American working stiff who busts his ass day in and day out to provide for his family. we're a bit more financially stable thanks to the sweat of his brow and the strength of his back.
Dad, I just wanted to say thanks. I'll pay you back, for the money and the time, the support, and love you showed a troubled drug dealing teenager.

Pocket Change. I'm talking pennies nickels and dimes, Quarters and Half Dollars. Pocket Change. The fractions of the dollars we spend everyday. the insignificant little discs of metal that we can't be bothered to pick up when a couple slip between our fingers because we're in a rush. After all it's just change right?
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