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M: So the boy slowly reaches out and picks up the bag, hugging it to his chest. He can tell right away that there’s not a sandwich inside. It’s too light for that. But he looks inside and can’t believe his eyes. It’s a roll of bills wrapped up in a rubber band. Money. More money than he’d ever seen in his life.
R: What did he do?
M: He jumped out of his hiding spot and ran for his mom, yelling the whole way. His mom thought something was wrong at first, checking him over for injury, but when he showed her the roll of green money, her eyes opened wide in hope for a split second before they crinkled with a frown. She asked where the boy got it, and he showed her, asking if they could keep it. But the mom said no, it wasn’t theirs, and someone would be very sad that they’d lost their money because it might be their life savings. The boy didn’t understand and argued, ‘finders keepers’, but the mom reminded him of the second part of that cliché, ‘losers weepers’, and said she wouldn’t want to be the reason someone less fortunate was crying. You there?
R: Yes. That’s beautiful and must’ve been so difficult for the mom and the boy.
M: The mom took the boy and the money to the police department. The boy didn’t understand it all, but if no one claimed it, after a time, it would be his. At first, the boy asked every day if someone had claimed the money, and he planned what he would spend it on. Toys, candy, a coat for his mom. Silly things and things they needed. It was months later, so long that the boy had stopped asking about the money. He’d given up all hope when the phone rang. It was the police. No one had claimed the money and it was his. The mom took the boy to the police department, and he signed his name carefully to the form, and the man behind the desk handed him an envelope. Inside, the money was laid out flat, wrapped in a band, and was still more money than he’d ever seen. The mom told him that having a lot of money was a gift and a responsibility, asking him what he wanted to spend it on. What do you think he bought?
R: Toys? Please tell me he bought his mom a coat!
I remember back to that moment, holding that thick stack of green paper in my hands. I had no concept of amounts or what anything cost, but it’d felt like a wish come true.
M: The boy bought his mom and sister dinner that night at their favorite restaurant, the diner on the corner. They only ate there occasionally and always shared two meals between the three of them, the mom only picking at a pancake to make sure the kids got enough to eat. But that night, they all had their own plates of pancakes and bacon. The mom called it a splurge, and it’d felt like one, his belly full as he went to bed for the first time in a long time. He lay there for a while before getting out of bed to talk to his mom. “How can I make this money change things so that we have enough to eat every night and never have to worry about money again?” he asked. The mom cried at first, but then they talked it over. There were many different ways they could use the money.
R: That’s so smart and brave of the boy!
M: Eventually, the boy gave the money to the mom to go to school herself. It didn’t make things easier at first. In fact, it got even tougher. She couldn’t play hide and seek anymore because she was doing homework. But she reminded her kids every night that she was going to change things for them with the gift the boy had given her. And she did. It took six months, but the mom got a certificate and started working a better job. And then all three of them had enough for dinner every night, the mom had a coat, and they never worried about the rent. The boy learned that education, working hard from the ground up, and never forgetting where you came from is the key to doing better and being better. He learned that from his mom, a better lesson than magically-appearing money could’ve ever taught.
R: That’s so beautiful. Such a touching story. That boy is a perfect example of love, giving everything to someone who’d given everything for him. Can I ask . . . are you the boy?
I stare at the question for a long time, wanting to tell the truth and wanting to lie in equal measure. I feel splayed open in a way I never have before. I started the story thinking it’d be a quick and silly story about the time I found a bunch of money and ate so many pancakes that I made myself sick, but it’d taken a very different tone as I remembered. I not only haven’t shared that story with anyone else, but I also don’t think I’ve ever thought of it the way I did tonight. The vulnerability is uncomfortable, making my chest itchy and achy. If I’d had to speak those words, I wouldn’t have been able to, but typing them seemed less difficult. Until now. Until Rachel wants me to claim them as something so utterly personal.
