Wallets

I have always been fascinated by wallets and their contents. Even as child I loved looking through wallets to see what pictures and bits of paper I would find (it really wasn’t the money). Wallets say so much about a person and their willingness to share their contents with you, tells you even more about them.

My favorite wallet has always been my Dads. As a small child, it seemed he was able to solve anything by pulling out his wallet. If my Mom needed a phone number, a small piece a paper would come out of the wallet with a dozen or so tiny hand written names and numbers.

My Mom would tell him “honey we need a new…” and out would come the wallet and he would send her off merrily shopping.

We would go out to dinner, all six of us, sometimes more and we would speculate what the bill was. But he would never let us see it. He’d simply pull out one of his three favorite cards and pay the bill. We would go to the doctor and out would come insurance cards and forms.

As teenagers, I really thought my Dad WAS an ATM machine. We would ask for cash, he would quiz us and then that magical wallet would come out with the right amount of cash as though he had been expecting us to ask.

Today, I had to handle my Dads wallet for what will probably be the last time. As I fumbled through its contents looking for his Social Security number, I found the Costco card and thought of how each Friday night, even as adults, he would call us and ask that we meet at the wholesale club on Saturday morning. It was a tradition for all of us to meet and do bulk shopping and get free samples.

There in the wallet, canceled months ago, were his favorite credit cards that had slowly over the years change to gold, platinum and other exotic colors. As free as he was with his money, he always paid his bills on time and believed in owing no one. “Cash on the barrel” I can still hear him say.

I found his driver’s license with a really robust picture of him right before he became ill 17 months ago. His faded AAA card that he used more for others, than himself. One year he used the AAA card so many times helping others, that AAA sent him a letter saying they would increase his rates because they knew he didn’t own 12 different cars in one year.

The worn out little pieces of papers with all the phone numbers of the people he cared about the most. His print over the years becoming bigger from failed sight and less phone numbers with the passing of relatives.

There was a hand written note, from a child, saying “I love you Dad”.

A piece of paper with everyone’s name and birthdates.

Then there were the pictures. A 23-year-old picture of my oldest son (his first grandchild) in the hospital the day he was born and another of me in the third grade, with pig tails, tucked right behind it. Pictures of my sisters and their kids, of my Mom, 50 years ago when he first met her at age 27 and she was only 22. I think that’s how he always saw her, the beautiful 22-year-old he fell in love with.

Why am I writing about this? Because sometimes it’s the smallest things that are most important and the least noticed. A man is not measured by the money he has, but by the contents in his heart. My Dad was a good man who really cared about people. His wallet was fat, not with money, but memories and good deeds. His wallet was just a reflect on his life and the people he loved.

Originally written 4/19/05