My mom loved to tell stories of her childhood. Her extraordinary tales never failed to hold a child's interest when she told stories about her life as a young girl. She often told about what it was like growing up in rural Ontario and the experiences of a dirt-poor family during "The Great Depression." Old stories came alive. One memory chased the other, transforming experiences of long ago into first hand encounters for those who listened. They laughed and loved the antics of a young tomboy who knew no boundaries, had no fear, and possessed an impressive and often perilous imagination.
One story in particular stuck in my son Brian's mind. It was more a history of how things were, and I thought it odd that it impressed him so strongly. In the earlier days, if you lived in rural Canada where the closest bank could be 30 or more miles away, people were more apt to keep what little money they possessed at home. Mom used the old expression "sock your money away" often when I was growing up, and now she was explaining where the expression came from. She said that "socking your money away," meant just that. Your put your money into a sock and hid in a safe place within the house, barn, or even…the outhouse.
In the weeks that followed, Brian often spoke of "socking" money away as mom's story stayed with him and I was even more surprised when he began depositing his weekly allowance into one of his own socks.
The brown sock appeared briefly every Saturday. Brian would stash his allowance in the sock, roll it up, and placed back in a secret hiding place within the house. I was proud that Brian was so serious about saving his allowance and after a few months, the brown sock's toe began to bulge impressively. The weight of the coins began to stretch the old sock and I noticed the toe was beginning to show signs of wear. I could not help but wonder how much more it could hold before the weight caused the thinning fabric to let go completely. So far, it was holding up well but it was only a matter of time.
My dad was a minister and guest speaker at many churches in the Toronto, Newmarket, and Barrie areas of Central Ontario. My young sister Donna, and brother Lorne, went to church with mom and dad every Sunday while my older sister Lorna and I had families of our own and attended only when church meetings were close to home. It was late spring and dad was speaking at a small church in town so the kids and I decided to attend.
After the sermon, my boys were invited to the front of the church where mom and dad's grandsons were introduced to the church. When time came to pass the collection plate, it began with those standing at the front of the church. I watched as my dad reached into his pocket and handed my oldest son Mike an offering for the plate, then he turned to Brian who shook his head and reached into his back pocket. In front of my disbelieving eyes, he pulled out his worn out brown sock of money! I held my breath as Brian went through the motions I had watched so many times at home. He held the bulging roll at eye level, grabbed the top of the sock, and let it fall open. As it hit full length and came to a jingling, crashing halt I prayed it would not choose this moment to burst open and to my relief…it held one more time.
The church was silent. As I looked around, I realized that everyone's eyes were on my son. Their puzzled interest grew as he held up the sock and by the time it unrolled and hit bottom, it seemed he had hypnotized the whole congregation. They watched as Brian took the plate. Carefully, he placed it on the floor, reached into the sock, and pull out a small handful of his precious savings. After dropping his coins into the plate, he picked it up and passed it on then carefully rolled up the sock and once again put it in the safety of his back pocket. I heard an audible hiss and realized that I had been holding my breath. I wanted nothing more than to press a button and disappear! I felt my face flush with embarrassment as I lowered my eyes to my lap. My son had just stood in front of the whole church and displayed a dirty, stretched and well-worn sock as a holding place for his money AND he did it with the flourish of a veteran magician.
I waited for the giggles but none came. I looked for people talking among themselves but no one spoke. In fact, everything was the same as before the 'sock' appeared. When church ended, I thought surely someone would mention the minister's grandson and his brown sock but no one did.
When we reached the car, I mentioned my embarrassment to mom and dad; they told me that what they witnessed that morning was so endearing that it brought tears to their eyes. They said that Brian's innocent display of generosity caused many tears besides their own. I wondered how I missed that but then I realized...I was so busy looking for adverse reactions that I missed the message Brian's innocent gesture sent out.
That day was more than thirty years ago. I think of it often but no longer as an embarrassment. Instead, it is a fond memory of a lesson learned from a very young teacher and one brown sock.
The innocence of a child disappears all too soon.
