The funny thing is considering how poor we were I somehow believed my mother would not notice any of the coin missing from her purse. Whether she overlooked it, or did not noticed, I will never know. However after some time I had accumulated a large collection of coins.
Like a scene with Ebenezer Scrooge or from Duck Tales with Scrooge McDuck, there I sat hidden away in my room intensely staring at shinny coins. I would not count them, I honestly had no clue how much money I had (stolen). I simply played with it, stacked it up, quarters upon quarters, nickels and dimes stacked as high as they can go. Thinking back now, I find it odd that I never stole a single penny from my mother’s purse. Oh but how I did love the way the coins shimmered in the light. How the metal coins felt in my hands and enjoyed the sound they made when I toppled over my nice neat stack of coins.
You must be wondering, was it greed? Was it avarice, the love of money? No, it was not. It simply was an innocent child’s need for security. I was poor; my family was poor. There were times we were unsure – meaning to say that my mother did not have to share the obvious, the bare cabinets and almost empty fridge spoke volumes. Of course, I am certain that for my mother, she believed she was quietly baring the burden of not knowing where our next meal was coming from – if she was going to be able to feed her children.
I did not seek the money out to lord it over any of my friends. Nor did I shared this secret with any one. I didn’t go out to buy a stash of candy with it. Certainly I could have, there was a small local corner store down the street from our apartment. I did not even know how much I had accumulated (stolen). I simply enjoyed the security it offered me. Money I had, therefor I was not poor – with a child’s mind, I perceived it as safety. I was innocent and ignorant. I did not know what to do with it, but I knew these stolen coins gave me a sense of security.
At one point, the amount of coins, I had stolen from my mother’s purse had grown to a large amount. I feared it would be found and confiscated – stolen. Therefore, I in my child like thinking devised a plan. Several months back my older sister had kicked open my bedroom door leaving a large gaping hole. The lower panel of the wooden door was broken and repaired, by placing two aluminum metal sheets on both sides. Says a lot about where we lived doesn’t it. Nevertheless, this gave me an idea.
I figured that if I could somehow unscrew the cover from my side of the room. In between these two sheets of metal, I could store my stolen coins, like a bank. I could secure my shinny coins in a safe place as well as have easy access to it. It was ingenious of me and I was proud of myself.
One day after spending too much time playing with my coins alone in my room. This behavior made my older sister suspicious of me. Wanting to know (or take) what I was doing she insisted I let her in. Being the impatient type, she once again kicked in the door. You can only imagine the odd loud noise it made as coins bounced around clanging about as metal hit metal. This of course led me sister to call the authorities – my mom.