ThePickleJar
A.W.科布 /
AsfarbackasIcanremember， thelargepicklejarsatonthefloorbesidethedresserinmyparents’ ， ’streasurewhenthesunpouredthroughthebedroomwindow.
Whenthejarwasfilled， ， ， aswedrovetothebank， Dadwouldlookatmehopefully.“Thosecoinsaregoingtokeepyououtofthetextilemill， ’’snotgoingtoholdyouback.” Also， eachandeverytime， asheslidtheboxofrolledcoinsacrossthecounteratthebanktowardthecashier， hewouldgrinproudly.“Theseareformyson’’llneverworkatthemillallhislifelikeme.”
， hewouldshowmethefewcoinsnestledinhispalm.“Whenwegethome， we’llstartfillingthejaragain.”
， happyjingle， wegrinnedateachother.“You’llgettocollegeonpennies， nickels， dimesandquarters，” hesaid.“Butyou’llgetthere.I’llseetothat.”
Theyearspassed， ， whilevisitingmyparents， Iusedthephoneintheirbedroom， ， andneverlecturedmeonthevaluesofdetermination， perseverance， .
WhenImarried， ， itdefined， morethananythingelse， ， ， andMamahadtoservedriedbeansseveraltimesaweek， ， asDadlookedacrossthetableatme， pouringcatsupovermybeanstomakethemmorepalatable， hebecamemoredeterminedthanevertomakeawayoutforme.“Whenyoufinishcollege， son，” hetoldme， hiseyesglistening， “you’llneverhavetoeatbeansagainunlessyouwantto.”
