A big pickle jar

An inspiring story..Please spend your time to read. It's really worth.. hope to accompany your day.

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As I know, a big pickle jar is always there on the floor beside the cupboard in parents' room. Before go to bed, my father always empty his pants pockets and then put all the coins into the bottle. As a child, I was glad to hear the jingle of coins dropped into the bottle. The sound of dropped coins become louder if the bottle just have a little coins inside. The coins sound is low when the bottle is f ull. I like to squat on the floor in front of the bottle, admiring the pieces of silver and copper shimmered like pirate's treasure when the sun through the bedroom window.

If it is full, he poured the coins into the kitchen table, counting them before took him to the bank. Bring the chips in the bank is always a big event. The coins were arranged neatly in a cardboard box and placed in between me and my father in his old truck. Every time we go to the bank, Dad looked at me expectantly. "Because these coins you do not need to work in textile factories. Your fate will be better than mine. The old town and the mill can not keep you here. " Everytime pushing boxes of coins to the bank teller, Dad always smiling proudly. "This is my son's tuition. He would not work in a textile factory along his life like me."

Returned from the bank, we always celebrate it by buying ice cream. I always choose chocolate ice cream. Dad always choose the vanilla. After receiving the change from an ice cream, Dad always shows some coins that change me. "When we arrive home, we fill the bottle again. "

Dad always told me to put the first coins into the jar whi ch is still empty. As the coins dropped jingling loud, We looked at each other with a smile. "You'll be able to lecture because of this one penny, nickle, dime, and quarter, "he said." You must can study in college. I swear to you. "

Year after year passed. I finally did succeed in college and I graduated from college and got a job in another city. Ever, when I visit my parents, I'm calling from the phone in their bedroom. I noticed that the jar no more. That pickle jar had completed his task and was moved somewhere. My throat felt tight when my eyes looked at the floor beside the cupboard where the jar was used in place.

My father did not talk a lot, he never lectured me about the importance of determination, perseverance, and confidence. For me, that pickle jar had taught the values that more real than beautiful words.

After getting married, I told Susan, my wife, how important role of the jar that seems trivial in my life. For me, pickle jar that sy mbolizes how much my father’s love for me. No matter how deep the difficult financial circumstances is, every night my father was always filled pickle jar with coins. Even in the summer when the father discharged from textile factories and the mother had only presents canned beans for weeks, even one piece was never been taken from the pickle jar. Conversely, looking at me from across the table and poured the beans with a little sauce for having a little bit tasty, Dad more confirms his determination to find a way out for me. "When you've finished college," he said with his eyes flashing, "you do not have to eat beans unless you want to."