Loose Change

Photo by The Oregon State University Collections and Archives on Unsplash

Creative non-fiction
by William F. Smith

Our family was poor. Not so poor that we didn’t have clothes to wear, but poor enough that the clothes we did wear showed it. I didn’t think much about it, knowing that there were other families who had it worse.

One incident that I remember quite distinctly happened in the eighth grade. It was the end of the school year, and the class was going on a picnic. There were about 25 or 30 in the class. Apparently, there was a considerable amount of money in the class treasury, the money we had collected throughout the year from fund-raising activities. Our class gift to the school already having been bought, and the picnic already paid for, we could use the rest of the money as we saw fit. So it was voted to divide it among the members of the class. The English teacher who was in charge of the matter proceeded to figure out how much each student should get. All she had to do was divide the amount of money by the amount of students. On the day of the picnic the money was passed out, and you would think that would have been the end of that. But wait!

Remember, she taught English, not math. Somehow, she said, there was a little money left over. Not much, it would only amount to a few cents for each student, so she thought it would be a good idea to give it all to one of the more needy students, and what, she asked, did the class think of that? Naturally, the class thought that was all right. So the teacher proceeded to call this needy student to the front of the class to make the donation. And who do you think that needy student was?

Can you imagine how I felt to be called before the class to accept this money, not because it was a prize for being the best student, not because I had won it in an essay contest, not because I had earned it by selling the most candy, but because the teacher thought I was the neediest pupil? My face was hot, and I felt like sinking down through a crack in the floor, but what could I do? Her intentions were good, I suppose, but her way of carrying them out was dreadful. And do you imagine it raised my self-esteem any to have the other members of the class ask me how much was there, and when I counted it to find it was close to $10 – loose change from each member of the class?

Of course, after a few days it didn’t bother me any more - I forgot it consciously and suppressed the hot shame that smoldered in my stomach. To this day I cannot negotiate a salary or apply for a loan, or have anyone question me about financial matters, without feeling that sickening heat in my gut.

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William F. Smith's stories, humorous verse and photographs have appeared in Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine, Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, Mike Shane Mystery Magazine and Reader’s Digest. His stories have been included in several anthologies.