Pennies

. . . from a trailer, actually. And a jar. And not just pennies, but a 2-cent Euro coin. And now it's not just a cute little opening phrase, but an annotated mess. So I'll just tell the dang story.

We brought a piano home on a trailer. (How's that? Three hours of toil and an ulcer all reduced to a single sentence. That's quality writing.) It was my in-laws' piano, and it's my parents' trailer, and they were sitting entwined in my garage.

Sam (4), who had not been able to attend to the loading of the piano, wanted to see inside "Gaga's trailer." So I picked him up and, instead of looking at the piano, his eyes immediately shot to the penny sitting on the ground.

"Ooh! A penny! Can I have it?"

"Sure," said my Dad.

So I picked the penny up and handed it to Sam, who crawled out of my grasp and ran into the house, forgetting the piano and the trailer.

Not less than 5 minutes later, Sam was crying. "I want my special penny!" he wailed as I walked into the house. Jonah (6) was standing there next to him, holding a penny.

And so I asked, "Jonah, where did you get that penny?"

(Sheepishly) "On the ground."

"Sam, did you leave your penny on the ground?"

(Tearfully) "Yes."

"Alright. Jonah, that is Sam's special penny that he just found. Please give it back to him and I'll give you a penny from the Penny Jar."

Jonah hung his head and slumped his shoulders as he handed the penny back to Sam. I took Jonah into the kitchen and pulled down from the shelf a jar, filled with pennies, labeled "Stephen's Savings." Opening the top, I spotted among the normal pennies a 2-cent Euro coin. I explained what it was to Jonah, and gave it to him saying, "There, now you have a special penny too."

Then I looked up and saw Stephen (8), thumb in his mouth, staring at me with the best doe eyes I'd ever seen him do.

I asked, "Do you want a special penny?"

Without taking his thumb from his mouth, he nodded. So I took a regular penny out and handed it to him. He smiled from behind his thumb and walked away.

By now, Jonah was crying. Starting to get a little angry, I asked him what the problem was.

"I wanted to find it on the ground," he cried.

I'd had enough. 70% angry and 30% just wanting to see if it would work, I took the coin out of Jonah's hand and dropped it on the ground.

He looked at me, looked at the coin on floor, looked at me again, and then bent down and picked it up. He stopped crying, said, "Thanks," and walked away.

It All Starts With Ice

I don't remember much about my early childhood because I'm old (" You're halfway to 72," one of my sons recently reminded me; I can't remember which one).

One thing I do remember is being in some preschool classroom and looking outside at some water we had put in cups on the outer windowsill. It was a cold day, and they had turned to ice, and I thought that was just the coolest thing in the world.

(Just for future reference, this may have been at Olgethorpe, which used to stand where the Publix is now at the intersection of Johnson Ferry and Ashford Dunwoody.)

Ice is cool, because it's water, but it's not. And any kid can make it.

So it was with no surprise that I heard Sam (4) open the freezer door last night during dinner (Sam does not stay at the table; he wanders) and exclaim, "I did it!" Then he came stomping into the dining room roaring a Frankensteinian laugh, "Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!"

Sure enough, he had an old sippy cup, filled solid with ice. It had frozen downward, puckering out the bottom of the cup so that it couldn't sit straight. But it was massive, heavy, and cold. And Sam loved it. "Dad! Look! I made ice!"

I admired it for a minute, remembering my own excitement with Magical Ice. I congratulated Sam and handed back his wonder, which he then showed to his brothers. Jonah (6), who had taught Sam this particular trick, was very happy. Stephen (7) was somewhat less so, since Sam had interrupted his dinnertime reading. But once he realized what was going on he was equally congratulatory.

Sam then returned his ice to the freezer. It was there this morning, along with a half-frozen Moe's cup that Jonah must have put in last night.

This winter, I'll get some clear plastic cups and put them outside the back window, so that we can see if we can make outside ice.

If I can remember.