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.