Waxing nostalgic

When Andy and I were in our lawyer's office hashing out the details of our will, we also discussed kids and schools--all the normal things people chit-chat about.  The lawyer was trying to come up with a number that he should send to his son, a Freshman, every month as an allowance.  He did not know if he should give him $500. or $600. dollars a month. Laughing and hiccupping, both he and Andy became concerned about my reaction even though Andy had an idea why I found those numbers so ludicrous. When I was a Freshman at Otterbein I had no allowance, everything was included in the price my father had to pay; room, food...the usual. How he paid it I have no idea.  Oh, he had a job, he always had a job and so did my mother.  Other people at Otterbein seemed to have money for bits and bobs, but I did not.  So I wrote to my mother and asked if she could possibly send me two dollars a week.  She was so good to me and I now appreciate that amount of money that she sent every single week until I was finished with that part of my life. I also had $11. dollars a month for working in one of the professor's office typing and filing.  We were poor and I never realized it because my parents worked hard and made a living for the four of us...a family of four. I never felt left out and I knew instinctively what the limits were for me as far as asking for money or anything connected with money. Having written that, every Saturday as a child, our outing was to Zanesville for shopping where I was allowed to spend a dime in the Five and Dime store.  One day I wanted an extra item and threw a fit that I still remember and insisted on items costing twenty-five cents. I got my way but I am still sorry about that. I remember worrying about Mother finding her way to the stores, Zanesville seemed so big to me when actually everything was on one main street.  There were two big department stores with walnut cases and sale's ladies in black dresses and pearls. Webers and Binzes (sic). That's not the correct spelling of that store.  But, they were mighty fine, well-run establishments. I am just saying you never know when conversations about money can trigger memories both good and bad.  Mine, luckily, have always been good. I wish I could tell my parents thank you.  I never said it enough and it is now too late.  Think about it.