An early lesson in charity
"There are three things important in life. First, serve God. Second, serve your community. Third, make a whole lot of money and give it to your father."
This story takes place during my toddler years, when I did indeed Say The Darndest Things.
When my grandmother moved into a smaller house, my dad helped her clean out her old home, which included a small treasure trove of my late granddad’s belongings. He was a collector of military antiques and coins and stamps, and among his possessions was a bag of John F. Kennedy half-dollars. There was nothing particularly special about the coins — most were well circulated and worth their face value. But an oversized, uncommon coin like that was kinda neat. So to keep my granddad’s presence with us always, Ben and I were each given our own half-dollar.
A few weeks later, I came up to my father, clutching the oversized coin in my fist. “Dad,” I said. “I want to put this in the collection plate at church.”
“Are you sure?” he asked. “That was a special gift to you. It might even be valuable one day. Do you really want to give it away so soon?”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” I said. “I want to take it to church.”
Sunday came, and Dad and I headed off to Trinity Episcopal Church in Towson (Mom stayed home with Ben since he was too young to sit through a service), which was about a 20 minute drive from where we lived. On the ride, he explained the importance of charity and giving.
“There are three thing important in this life,” he said. “First, serve God. Second, serve your community. Third, make a whole lot of money and give it to your father.” I’m not entirely sold on that last point, but the first two seem pretty solid.
So together, we sat through the service. Well, he sat; I spent most my time playing with the half-dollar, chasing it under the pews when it would roll away from me. Finally it came time for the offering, and the gold collection plate began making its way through the congregation. Dad pulled a dollar bill out of his wallet and held it out in front of me.
“Erin,” he said, “if you want to put money in the plate, you can put this dollar in. You don’t have to give away your coin. Once it goes in the plate, I can’t get it back if you change your mind.”
“I know, Dad,” I said. “I want to put the coin in the plate.”
Soon enough, the collection plate passed to us, and I triumphantly cast the coin in. As the large silver piece settled with a clank into the plate, my father beamed with immense pride down at me. I looked up at him and smiled broadly. He says he will never forget what I said only a minute later:
“Boy, is Ben gonna be mad!”
It was my brother’s half-dollar. I had taken it, and I had disposed of it the only way my 4-year-old self knew how.
Parenting books offer sage advice on the many different scenarios in which one might find oneself while raising up the future generation, but none cover how to navigate through the Nicene Creed while stifling a severe case of the giggles. I think the old man laughed the whole ride home.
I never did get in trouble for it, because at least my heart was in the right place. Kinda. Sorta. Another coin was plucked from the bag and given to my brother, and my folks made darn sure this time that they knew which year was his.
Four decades later, I’ve taken to heart my father’s lessons about charity and giving back to the community. But I use my own money now.
