Essay About Childhood Experiences

It was time to sell them, and we decided to do it that Saturday.At that point, I flew into a fury of can collection madness.

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All of my work for an entire year was about to finally pay off.

To put this in perspective, I was estimating about $400 to $450 worth of cans here and to that point in my life I had never actually seen a hundred dollar bill.

One year, when I was about nine or ten, I decided I wanted to save up for something fabulously expensive.

I don’t recall exactly what it was that I wanted so badly; in fact, I’m fairly sure that what I was saving for changed over time.

In the end, though, it didn’t really make any difference; my cousin actually admitted to taking the cans, but said he would deny it to the police and there was no “proof.” In short, I lost a year’s worth of work and more money than I could even imagine because of the thievery of someone in my own family.

That individual was so full of cowardice that he stole a year’s worth of work from a child to buy himself a toy. I am particularly paranoid about my own life insurance and my desire to have a very large emergency fund.It was just barely out of direct line of sight from the house.It was old and rusty and not in the best shape, but few things remind me of “home” more than the sight of it.I ran to the box car while he backed the truck up to it to unload the cans. When the finality of what had happened finally began to click with me, I just walked back to the house, went up to my bedroom, closed the door, and sat on the bed alone for a while.My father didn’t come up to see how I was doing, but when my mother came home from the grocery store, I could hear him in a rage downstairs, sounding as though he was literally ready to kill the person who could do such a thing to a child. That afternoon, my father got an interesting call from an old friend of his: my cousin, the one who had seen my cans just a few days before, showed up out of the blue at the friend’s house with 0 in cash and bought a used motorcycle that the fellow was trying to sell.I was going to cash the check and actually receive a couple of these and hold them in my hand.My father woke up and estimated that it would take five pickup truck loads to haul all of the cans to the dealer, so we got started immediately. My father and I both stood there in what amounted to shock.I had a generally pleasant relationship with him, but he was about twenty five and I was ten, so it was just cordial.He asked me what I was up to and I told him that I was crushing cans and I was about to sell them because the price was high.Every day, I would crush all of the uncrushed cans on our property, and every week, I would go on my “can collecting route,” getting cans from neighbors and crushing them.This went on for more than a year as the boxcar slowly began to fill with bags of cans.

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