Drawer Dollar

I couldn’t have been older than 6. We lived in a duplex in Glen Ellyn. It was the first home I remembered living in. My parents moved from Seattle to Kenosha to finally a suburb outside of Chicago. I still remember the first day I went to school and my father dropped me off at the bus stop.

My father told me stories of how when he was young, his brothers and him had very few possessions. He grew up extremely poor and had a small dresser he shared with his brothers. They each had one drawer for their special belongings. I don’t remember what my father kept in his: diaries, makeshift toys, or money. He told me he was so poor growing up he would gather the pits of peaches to use as toys and he would unravel cigarette butts for their paper. Even as a child I could understand how poor he once was and how I wasn’t as poor as he was as a child.

He asked me to place a few of my things into a drawer. I didn’t really have much, I didn’t collect anything from outside like rocks or stamps or coins and my father had yet to fill my drawer with teenage things like he did with pens and trinkets later in my life.

The only thing I remember possessing was a $1 bill. My mother or father must have given it to me to teach me to save or to treat me for candy. I stored this dollar carefully in my drawer. 

One evening my parents were arguing. I heard them yelling about “qian,” the Chinese word for money. I listened from another room, scared of the situation. I had never seen my parents angry at each other. Why were they so upset? I thought they could work through anything together. 

They continued to argue and I ran to my drawer. I didn’t want my parents to argue about money so I grabbed the only money I had and ran back to the other room. I must’ve ran to my mother for a hug and cried out she could have my money. My parents saw the dollar in my hands and laughed. They told me not to worry and to save my dollar. I was so sad I could not help. 

The next day I walked to the corner store across the street. I took my dollar and looked for Wrigley’s Double Mint gum. It was 25c and I knew my father enjoyed them. I bought one pack of gum and excitedly ran home. I gave my father my gift and he smiled at me. He thanked me and told me not to worry.

Later in my life, I would be hit by a car and receive a decent amount of settlement money. My parents would ask me for a large loan and I would accept without question. They were able to pay me back, but I wasn’t really concerned on how or when and I don’t remember the details. All’s I know is they never fought about money after that. My father’s business stabilized and the arguments died down. He was right, I shouldn’t worry.