I am always amused at how a seemingly normal conversation can trigger some random thoughts that bring back memories of years gone by. In his delightful book "A Child's Christmas in Wales," Dylan Thomas describes his memories of past Christmases as a large snow bank, and each time he sticks in his hand he pulls out some random vision of his youth.
Today a conversation at dinner led me to recall that when I was 5 or 6 years old I managed to swallow a nickel. Of course I was taken to the doctor, an old and barely competent company one. After a cursory exam, he pronounced that my parents needed to monitor my fecal matter until it was determined that the missing coin had been passed out of my system.
As was the case for most of my childhood, I spent weekdays with Grandfather and Grandmother Finch since both my parents worked outside the home. So, when I next went there to stay I came equipped with the pot off my old child's training potty and a set of clothespins with which my dung was to be examined.
Grandmother, apparently misunderstanding the need to conduct a thorough search, looked into the pot with the first deposit, dumped it in the toilet, then went off to find a nickel in her purse, which she gave me. "There," she said, "you've got your nickel back."
No further scrutiny was made of my shit as she must have told my parents that the missing monetary unit had been recovered. Who knows? I may still have the lost buffalo head still lurking in the depths of my bowels. Which would mean that I have more cents than some people credit me for.
