Wheat Penny Collection

The best way to learn how to count is by twos dad always said. With my dad’s wheat penny collection, I counted-and-counted. He would fill coffee cans with them and tell me about how his grandfather used to have a huge collection and they would be worth something someday, I would barely be able to carry the pennies because the cans were so heavy and I would spill them all over the floor. My dad also showed me the numbers of life through a deck of playing cards. They say that we can choose our own destiny even though ironically it seems the path we end up on is far from a so-called normal one in life. We were one of the only families we knew that never had any money but still traveled fairly legal across country and back so many times. I lost track of schools we had enrolled in. We never knew any different in this country it seems that moving like a gypsy is just another process. Our father believed in a few good things a man only needed; his work boots, hot coffee, and tool box.


We would move so fast that the same top ten songs would be playing on the radio when we moved again. I remember when it was the song “Fly like an Eagle” by The Steve Miller Band “Time keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping, into the future.” These were the little things that got me through being homesick, anytime I wanted I could just close my eyes and be on the island in my mind. I used to ask my dad “Where are we going this time?” When he was in his driving mode he didn’t want to be bothered. So soon I stopped even asking where we were going anymore because it seemed he never knew. Being happy is a state of mind that people just can’t seem to understand if you don’t have any money.

I found out early in life that people get very spiteful when they encounter real love or beauty of any kind with hope and happiness, when you come from another part of the country or being an outsider no matter where you are in life or who you are, it is very hard to every really fit in. It’s like playing the part of a role for a movie always being on the scene never missing a beat. Growing up out west, I was lucky enough to be riding horses and playing basketball with my dad. We seemed to have everything that most families didn’t have I noticed. My parents always stayed together and others didn’t. My father’s dearest muse was my mother. Our lives were always filled with so much motion. I never stopped to notice how my parents never really even talked about their own families back east. That was just the way we had to live detached we were nomads following maps where ever they would take us.

We used to have such simple times with three hundred sixty- five days on sunlight playing games and having picnics in the Rocky Mountains. Our parents would always keep up on their target practice, but this life didn’t come without certain tragic events that will make it hard to ever understand or choose which side to be on. This story doesn’t really have a trigger-happy ending and it doesn’t even make sense. It’s just our life and what happens when we always tried to live off the grid. Mom always found a way to lay in the sun even if it was under the sky light or by a big window. I don’t think she ever knew how much light she has though now or then. Our dad always did his best to be there for us, picking us up after school and taking us roller-skating or for the movies. He taught us to be so grateful for everything in life as my mother always showed us how much we had, by making us homemade gifts all the time.

She would sew until her fingers bled and stay up all night to make sure all the toys were sewn before Christmas. I always loved watching her sew and bake as she worked herself to death though. I began to wonder when our parents would ever catch a break in life. It seemed no matter what we always ended up being the ones that had to move or always thinking we should go somewhere else, but why were we always really on the run and why did our beauty and love have everything and nothing all at once? That is something I still will never have any answers for. I always wondered why everyone thought I had the coolest parents. Being wild and crazy wears off and nobody wants to take you seriously when you get older though, they think you are just some burnt-out used- up has been that doesn’t know a damn thing in life just because you might not have any money, doesn’t mean you are stupid.

Everyone else had fancy lunch boxes in school but I had the coolest mom in the world that would hand -paint my brown-lunch bags the night before school everyday. One year I went a little crazy with the construction paper. I decided that if I couldn’t have a Christmas tree I would make one out of paper. All the paper in the world doesn’t matter though unless it’s the kind you can spend. But in my world I never even knew what that was only compassion and feeling loved. I spread my paper construction hearts everywhere I went from school-to-school always cutting paper-hearts. I thought if I left enough hearts it might catch on and everyone would finally have one. Most the time kids would just make fun of me for always cutting paper-hearts. When we never lived beyond our means we lived wealthier than the richest man in the world. Being human is not about having more than everyone else. We are all supposed to help one another not judge people from their ripped up jeans or long hair.

My dad always said the real American dream was eating cheeseburgers and french-fries watching the fireworks. Having barbeques in the backyard and driving down the highway with the freedom to do so. Now that I am adult and find myself in hard times again. I see how my father had it when he must have gone for help all those times and had to suffer in humiliation. When we try to get help if you’re even lucky to get any in the first place, we must go through the whole process of being investigated and looked down on like an animal that can’t take care of yourself and family. When things would get really hard for us my dad always saved the wishbones from baked chickens we had. We would respectful make a wish as we broke the wishbone. Sometimes I think my dad would let me win and other times he would win hoping that his wish would come true, to just be able to take care of his family.

No matter what anyone says he was really a very kind, loving, and honest devoted family man, but I believe that the system gives us brain damage after awhile. Breaking us all down like just another number for the corporations to do what they want with the little man and as the big boss gets richer quicker we are left out in the cold without any food to eat. Treating us all like we are a dime of a dozen and telling us we have too much confidence in one-hand and stupefying us with mind numbing news and media to let us down and bring us up in the next moment? They spend so much on the drug war in this country. Why does it seem like the drug stores are legally getting away with being the biggest drug dealers in town? Whether it’s by street drugs or legally, one out of three Americans are consumed by synthetic chemicals. Instead of building more rehabs and schools they build more prisons.