The first Christmas after our daughter Jessica was born， we spent the holiday with my parents. After dinner， Mom and Dad sat next to each other on the sofa， taking turns cuddling their first grandchild. Jessica began to whimper softly， and Susan took her from Dad’s arms. “She probably needs to be changed.” she said， carrying the baby into my parents’ bedroom to diaper her.
When Susan came back into the living room， there was a strange mist in her eyes. She handed Jessica back to Dad before taking my hand and quietly leading me into the room.
“Look.” she said softly， her eyes directing me to a spot on the floor beside the dresser. To my amazement， there， as if it had never been removed， stood the old pickle jar， the bottom already covered with coins. I walked over to the pickle jar， dug down into my pocket， and pulled out a fistful of coins. With a gamut of emotions choking me， I dropped the coins into the jar. I looked up and saw that Dad， carrying Jessica， had slipped quietly into the room. Our eyes locked， and I knew he was feeling the same emotions I felt. Neither one of us could speak.
自從我記事起，那個大醃菜罐就在父母臥室梳妝台旁的地板上放著。每晚，爸爸上床睡覺前，都要把口袋裏的硬幣全掏出來，扔進罐子裏。小時候，我很喜歡聽硬幣扔進罐子時所發出的聲響。罐子快要空的時候，硬幣投進去發出輕快的叮當聲。罐子快要裝滿時，叮當聲便慢慢地變成了沉悶的砰砰聲。太陽從臥室的窗子射進來時，照在罐子裏的硬幣上，它們就如海盜劫掠去的珍寶一般熠熠閃光。每到這時，我就會蹲下身來欣賞這些亮晶晶的硬幣。
罐子滿後，爸爸便坐在餐桌旁，用紙把硬幣卷起來，然後存到銀行去。把硬幣拿到銀行存並不是件容易的事。通常，我們是開著爸爸那輛舊卡車去。我們把硬幣齊刷刷地堆進一個小硬紙盒裏，放在我和爸爸的座位之間。每次，我們開車去銀行時，爸爸都充滿希望地看著我：“那些錢將會使你離開紡織廠，兒子。你會生活得比我好。這個古老的工業小鎮不會再拖你的後腿，你就可以自由發展了。”他每次在銀行的櫃台前，把那成卷的硬幣推給出納員時，總是咧著嘴驕傲地笑個不停：“這些錢是準備供我兒子上大學的。他絕不會像我一樣，在工廠裏工作一輩子。”