Clint Black Aint It Funny How a Melody

One of the most pleasant sounds in the world to me is the sound of loose change being dropped into a change jar. Why? you ask. Am I that much of a modern-day, money-hungry Scrooge that I even like the sound of loose change, mere pennies and nickels, clinking together? No, no, although I do like money, this noise means much more to me than money. You see, growing up that noise meant the fun was about to start. How's that? you wonder.

When I heard that noise, it meant my dad had just arrived home from work. He'd hug and kiss us all, walk upstairs and–while changing into his fun clothes–he'd drop his day's worth of loose change into his change jar. That sounds meant the fun was about to begin. He'd walk downstairs, and we'd hang out for a bit before dinner. After dinner, we'd go outside and have a catch or play hoops until bedtime. In the winter it meant basement sports or wrestling. These times–from 6:30 to 9 p.m.–were some of the best times of my life. Even though I would have played outside all day in the summer, playing and hanging with my dad was always the best time of the day. I was crushed when bedtime came around.

For years I've been a stickler about carrying and using cash (even though I've grown to use mostly credit cards). And while there are other intelligent reasons to carry cash, I think a part of why I try to deal in cash is that sound of dropping my change into a jar at the end of the day. The sound gives me good feelings and great memories. It reminds me of how solid my dad was in my childhood. It reminds me of my youth. Those wonderful, carefree evenings. That sound means everything to me.

Recently, I decided to cash in my last few years' worth of change. I'd filled up two full gallon milk jugs. At the bank, I guessed they'd total $105. My wife guessed $120. We told the the bank teller our guesses. She smiled in a way that told me we were morons. Knowing my propensity to be too optimistic, I soured on my $105 guess. "She knows it's less," I told my wife.

"Three-hundred and eighteen dollars," she said after the change machine ran for a few minutes. "I knew it was more than you guessed, but jeez there must have been a lot of quarters in there," she said as she handed us the almost empty milk jugs. Leftover deep in the bottom of one jug sat 2.70 Euros in coin, a clump of pocket lint, a 10 "cent" piece from my time in the Federal Republic of Georgia, and a coupon for a free small McDonalds McCafe smoothie.

A couple days passed. My change going into the jar sounded different. The jugs would need time–years–to fill up again. It signified something. Gone are the days of my youth. I'm $318 richer, but the jugs are empty.

I can't shake the feeling that the glass containers need to be filled again. Little by little, day by day. Eleven weeks and I'll be a dad. That baby needs me to give him or her such memories. The baby needs to hear a song or bird call or see a specific color or sunset and think of its childhood. The baby–when grown up–needs to hear the change going into the jar and have wonderful memories. Whatever his or her version of the change jar is, I can't wait to give those nights of play, affection, and love. Long gone is my childhood, but ahead a new one dawns. I am determined to make it as fine as mine was to me.

Two empty change jars sit in my home. Taunting me.

***

And it stoned me to my soul
Stoned me just like goin' home
And it stoned me

Ain't it funny how a melody can bring back a memory

Take you to another place in time
Completely change your state of mind
It can make a right from a wrong, it can make you fall in love
It can get you singin' along
Chase the clouds away and make the sun shine above

A melody can bring back a memory
Take you to another place in time
Completely change your state of mind

jenkinsbanot1985.blogspot.com

Source: https://www.fromthenorthcountry.com/2018/04/18/aint-it-funny-how-a-melody-can-bring-back-a-memory/

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