A Dollar’s Worth
By Alisa Dollar
The older I become, I’m more nostalgic. With parents gone, I often have fleeting thoughts of times gone by when something in particular comes into my fleeting thought mind.
Most are good. A few are bad. Some are sad. Comparing to some seen on television, we didn’t have a dysfunctional family, though at times it seemed so. We were a normal churchgoing and productive to the community family.
Christmastime brings out my sappiness. I tear up at the drop of a hat and in the same breath laugh at some memory from earlier times when my family and sibling and families trek to visit the parents.
Yesterday in my neighborhood drugstore, I saw a box of chocolate covered cherries. Daddy used to bring mother those at the start of December. It was her favorite candy and though it seemed a simple gesture, I realize now it was a grand gesture.
She hoarded it too. Not that I wanted any but I always thought she could’ve offered. It took all these years to realize she shared everything else with us kids and that was her one pleasure that was hers alone.
One Christmas season, husband noticed I had a box of chocolate covered cherries in my lap and a sick look on my face. For once, he approached the subject in a manner not accusatory knowing I have a chocolate fetish.
“I thought you didn’t like that candy?”
I could see he was trying his best to not say then why have you eaten half a box? It was either the teary eyes or the fact I was about to throw up that stopped him from saying another word.
“They were mother’s favorite.” I said. He looked puzzled but still didn’t say anything.
“I was thinking about her today.” I stated as though that would clear any and all questions concerning me and that half box of chocolate covered cherries.
I threw the rest away after they set on my kitchen cabinet for a week. I couldn’t have eaten another one if someone had offered money.
They made me feel good though. They reminded me of a time gone by when things were simple and I didn’t have to be the grownup.
I hope we’ve given our children lasting memories to suddenly appear out of nowhere.
We hoard good memories while the worst fade.
Memories are gifts. Share them.