Shine On, You Crazy Caustic Clown

Isn't it amazing how a simple object that you stumble upon can unleash a torrent of memories?  An object from your past that others will never be able to appreciate the intrinsic value or significance of?  I have one such item, and I happily came across it yesterday while rummaging through my box of trinkets from my past.  It's an odd-ball item, one that probably wouldn't fetch a lot of coin in a rummage sale today.  But to me it's priceless beyond compare.

It's my silver clown bank.  And brother and sisters, it's so crazy cool.

I honestly can't remember who presented it to me, or even when or why.  But I know it was mine as a child and I loved it.  It's part of my DNA of good memories.  I can remember putting coins into the slot in it's back to save up for something special.  On the surface it's a jovial little clown, just look at that wide-mouth smile on it's face.  But, don't be fooled for a second.  The sweet grin is without question a disguise hiding a more sinister undercurrent of days gone by.  You can just tell by holding it that it's loaded with all sorts of heavy metals and toxic plating that would destroy a lesser kid of today.  But in the 1960's we were tough, man.  We grew up cutting our teeth on leaded-paint window sills, breathing asbestos, and sucking down Pepsi with real sugar in it.  We had fillings with mercury in them, not the inert composite sissy stuff of today.  As a result, this clown never harmed me one bit, I was already vaccinated by my surroundings.

And so it goes that my childhood bank has now found a relocated resting place here on my desk mantle, no longer relegated to the protection of a plastic box in a storage closet.  Zoie thinks it's just the coolest, but she's only allowed to gaze at it from across the study.  There's no way she'll ever be allowed to come within a six foot radius of this shimmering caustic killer of yester-year... at least not without a hazmat suit and a regulator, that is.

Shine on baby, shine on.

Jamie Mink