My Dad tells a story about when he was a kid going to the public swimming pool, or ‘The Plunge.’ He was wearing only his swim shorts and didn’t have any pockets so he carried his dime entry money in his mouth, with predictable results. He tells how he told them he’d swallowed his dime, but they wouldn’t let him in.
I don’t remember the story because it’s unique; I’m sure it isn’t. I remember it because it tells me so much about my Dad’s life in a few short lines. How much losing that dime must have meant for him to remember that incident so clearly after all these years. How little money he must have had growing up and how much he wanted to go swimming.