childhood memories: sleeping money

I easily remember, as a child, the usual places I would go to when I got in the car with my Mom. Grocery store, library, bank, park, and Grandma's house, along with the odd department store, shoe store etc. Although I couldn't tell you how to get to most of those places (because I'm horrible at giving directions) I could take you there nonetheless: the paths are memorized by sight, gently worn over time into the grooves of my mind. I remember how my parents would remind my siblings and I (until a certain age) to keep our voices low when in the library and the bank. I loved the library, and still do. The bank ... not so much. As a child, it was very boring. Actually it's a bit tedious nowadays as well. But as a child, I never understood why I had to keep my voice down, reminding my younger siblings in a whisper to keep their voices down as well and to try not to fidget as we waited in line behind our Mom (who mostly took on those sorts of errands).We would stand and wait ... and waiting, always hard, is unexplainable torture to five-year-olds and under.

I remember, probably more than once, myself or a sibling asking my Mom why we had to be quiet in the bank. "I really don't know, you just do," she replied. "It's not like you're going to wake up the money!" At this my siblings and I would burst into giggles, as was the intended affect.

I remember one time in particular when we were in the drive-thru of the bank. The drive-thru was always much better than going inside: we didn't have to stand in line, we didn't have to be quiet as mice, and we could listen to the crackling voice of the bank teller over the intercom and watch the plastic tube go whoosh - sucked up through the ceiling to the teller and then traveling back over to our car. To a child anywhere from one-to-six years old, that's magic. The day in particular I remember was different because when my Mom retrieved an envelope from the plasic tube, she handed it to me in the back seat. "Open it," she said. I'm guessing that I was around seven at the time. I opened it, and inside was a stack of money. A stack of crisp hundred dollar bills. "It's a thousand dollars," my Mom stated. "I was a teenager the first time I ever saw a thousand dollars in cash." I understood that she was showing it to me because she wanted me to appreciate it and know it for what it was. I fingered the bills, counted them, then showed the envelope to my two younger siblings. Looking back, I think it was the only time I've ever held a thousand dollars cash. Nowadays, with debit cards and online purchases, fewer and fewer people withdraw cash to designate for everyday purchases. There are computer programs and in-depth spreadsheets where there once was envelopes and notebooks. I've withdrawn a few hundred at a time for going on trips, but no more than $500. What my Mom had the thought to show me that day - guessing that it could be somewhat significant - has stayed with me through the years. She taught my siblings and I the importance of budgeting, tithing and saving, and not taking things for granted.

Every now and then it's important to remember the value of every dollar. Especially compared to when I was seven, when having five dollars for spending opened up numerous possibilities. Every now and then it's important to remember the childhood wonder of seeing a bank deposit tube go whoosh, and that we keep our voices low when inside a bank so that we don't wake up the sleeping money.