My 12 year old son spent the day spinning pennies. We were running errands. Every time I emerged from the truck he got out, penny in hand, and tossed or twirled or otherwise whirled that penny.
The penny raced down paved parking lots, it flew up concrete curbs and it lined the linoleum halls of malls. Sometimes the penny was leading the way, others it was bringing up the rear. Once I even chased it down.
It was annoying at first because I can be a grown up and get caught up in getting things done. The penny slowed us down. We had to wait for it to finish spinning. I had to watch the fabulous jump it could take. But slowly, the penny’s seductive power to create happiness worked on me.
When my children were little we went to the grocery store and a penny bought two things. It bought a ride on the pony or it bought a spinning race in this giant tub with a racing slot high up on the side.
The pony was easy; slip the penny behind his ear and he began to jump and bounce about for thirty seconds. Typically I gave my children three pennies while the grocery clerk rung up my food.
The race was a family affair. There was a giant tub positioned just before the exit, designed to capture any loose change to raise money for a good cause. A start slot on either side allowed us to ready-set-go, then release our pennies and watch them spin on their sides, racing down the belly of the giant tub. They spun with a dizzy speed before dropping out of sight.
It was mesmerizing to watch the coins spin. It soothes something deep inside as if our system knows the earth is turning and this spinning makes sense to us deep under our skin, healing what is not quite right.
Any arguments we’d had over cereal in the huge aisles of the store were long gone after the pennies came out. We were calmed after this simple pleasure. At home, I’d put the food away, then get out a stack of picture books and, with a child in each arm, read to them while we snuggled.
I was very good at going slow when my children were small. Toddlers are more demanding that way. Teenagers are an enigma. They listen to fast music. They hurry me to practice and dates with friends. I am a chauffeur driving to meet deadlines, packing it all in so that they can have the big life they long for.
But inside these hurried bodies they are still children in some corner of their being. They long for the slow of spinning a penny.
When I got home last night I sat on the green couch that is soft and squishy. I called my penny spinning boy to me, “Come sit on my lap.” He laughed. He doesn’t fit as well as he used to now that he is taller than me. He sat, however, and laid his head against my chest and draped his legs over the couch.
I wrapped my arms around his torso and hugged him to me. His breath slowed just as it did when he was little. I felt his cheek get soft against my neck. There are few surrenders as complete as the one found in your mother’s arms. I want to make certain I offer it frequently enough.
Our lives are the race these days. I am just as taken with my son as I once was with a spinning penny, but the pace of it all sometimes disconnects me from letting that wonder truly touch my heart. I need to insert pause moments, like the one at the end of every grocery shopping trip when the pennies emerged from my coin purse and we stopped just to gaze.
My son is becoming his own person, complete with the ability to turn a day of errands into an adventurous race course with a penny. He can lighten my mood by quoting Bill Cosby or Seinfeld. He finishes my burger and gives me all his crispy fries. He is a companion and I didn’t know that would happen when he begged for cereal in aisle four of the grocery store.
A spinning penny reminded me that this giant person who lives in my house is still, in so many ways, a little boy but he is becoming a man. To be a witness to this spinning, whirling journey is mesmerizing.
Is there a penny in your life that links yesterday and today?
{ 2 comments… read them below or add one }
That was beautiful, Rebecca. It reminded me of when my two sons were that age. Once in a while, I would think about the fact that they would soon be gone and it made me cry. I wrote a poem to my youngest the day he left for college: After you left, I walked along the creek and could not keep the tears from my eyes. The mares grazing in the meadow had had their young in spring and should be glad to see them grown. The magpies flying overhead had worked hard all summer feeding their young and with their young now grown, could face winter to care for none but themselves. I tried to remember how it felt to be young and free, eager to cut parental strings. But all of these thoughts could not comfort me. I longed for the small hand I once held, the secret laughter we once shared, and the dear child who had disappeared into manhood.
Sue, I revist this and think of you, further ahead of me on the motherhood journey. Your words are a comfort to me. The days…they do spin by.