Pencil Case

Pencil Case

By: Tony Ortiz | November 10th, 2019

Remember that period of time before school started again, when summer vacation was almost over and the excitement of getting new school supplies temporarily drowned out the memories of having to do too much homework, while you rather be watching Power Rangers, VR Troopers, or Batman (the animated series, not the Adam West reruns, although I’d have an affinity for those a bit later in life)?  That’s the set and setting of this story.

There was this one summer, between second and third grade, when I used to go with my Dad to the Supermarket he used to work at.  He managed the Deli within the Supermarket and opened up the place way before he actually needed to be there.  Being punctual to him meant being somewhere an hour or two before you're expected to be.  You know, in case you get a flat tire on the way, or your car explodes.   This way you can get it fixed and still be on time to handle your responsibilities.

I didn't mind getting up early with him though.  My seven year old brain was so jacked-up from all the adrenaline coursing through me, that I barely slept the nights before, anyways.  I'd wake up, brush my teeth, get dressed and be ready to leave on time.  We drove the 10-15 minutes it took to get there and opened up shop.   A couple of the dudes that worked as shelf stockers were already out front, sipping on their fifty cent, cart coffees.  Not my Pop though, he got his Bustelo out of the way at home.  My Mom prepared it for him the night before, and he brewed it before the sun was up.  He had it along with a piece of Entenmann’s butter loaf pound cake, while he listened to either 1010 WINS or Radio WADO 1280 on the AM radio dial.

He said what's up to the guys, who seemed happy to see him and patted me on the head.  

“¿Quien es este chikiyo?”  One of them asked. 

“Este es el hijo mas pequeño mio,” my Pop responded. “Saludalo a Ramón, Tony,” he instructed.

“Hola,” I said timidly.

“Pero con la voz alata, para que te pueda oir,” my Dad added, “y dale la mano.”

“Hola,” I said a bit louder as I shook Ramón’s hand.  

“O, se llama Tony tambien?  We’re going to call you Tony Junior, para no confundirnos.  ¿Vas a trabajar con tu papi?”  He asked. 

“Sí,” I responded.

“Que bueno,” he said.

My Dad and the other guy that I would later come to know as Miguel, finished rolling up the metal gate in front of the supermarket.  My Dad went in alone, to shut off the alarm and flick on the lights.  He was the only one that the owners trusted with the keys and alarm code.  I stayed outside with Ramón and Miguel for a bit until all the lights came on.

To this day, I still remember walking in for the first time.  I mean, I've been in supermarkets before, this one in particular a couple times while it was bustling with shoppers and workers.  But being the first ones through the door, watching the lights begin to go on, felt like I was in on a secret.  I was privy to the behind-the-scenes of how this place transitioned every night from dormant to lively.

We walked passed the cashiers, around the lotto station, which I later learned is where the owner hung out at so he could keep his eye on the money and cashiers.  We made our way to the deli that was in the back-right corner from where we were standing.  My Dad flicked on the light switches to the display fridges where the cold-cuts and cold salads were, while I roamed around his workspace.  His work domain.  Excited to be on this side, with an opportunity to see how the sausage was made.   There were notepads and scraps of paper sitting  on a small table.  Others hung with magnets on the side of the standing fridge and all seemed to be lists of different deli meats.  

Soon after, my Dad washed his hands thoroughly and put on an apron that he had hung up on a hook the day before.

“Vamos a buscar el pan,” he told me.

“¿El pan?” I asked surprised to hear there was more.

“Sí, tengamos que hacer el pan fresco cada día.”

With that, we went up one of the aisles toward the back of the supermarket.  My eyes scanned around in awe like I hadn't seen a cereal aisle before, while I tried to keep up with my Dad’s speed walking.  There were these double doors that said ‘Employees Only,’ and he pushed through them like he owned the place.  

“Ven por aquí,” he instructed, “ten cuidado con las escaleras.” 

We walked down a dingy flight of stairs, into a poorly lit basement filled with broken down cardboard boxes and cases of the products that would eventually fill the shelves of the aisles upstairs.  Ramón and Miguel were hard at work, lifting cases, breaking down boxes and then tying them up and sending cases of goods up a flat escalator looking thing, so that they can be stocked on the shelves upstairs.  

“¿Cómo va eso muchachos?” My Dad asked. 

“Hey Tony y Tony Junior,” Ramón replied as he continued on with his work. 

My Dad opened up a walk-in-box refrigerator and grabbed a big bag filled with frozen dough-like cylinders, and gave me a slightly smaller one.  

“¿Tú puedes con esa?”

“Si,” I responded quickly, to not let him down, but I wasn't so sure that I could carry it.  I lifted the bag awkwardly in front of me with both hands and followed my Dad back the way we came.  

“Tony, vio el juego de los Mets anoche?”  Miguel asked.  

“Si, que barbaridad.  No tienen pitcheo.  Sin pitcheo mejor no van para parte ellos,” my Dad responded as Miguel nodded in agreement.  

“Nos vemos en lonche muchachos,” my Dad added, as we went back up the dingy staircase.

When we made it back to the deli, my Dad cranked up one of the two long ovens, to a specific temperature that he had marked on the knob with black permanent marker ink because the actual numbers had rubbed off already.  Then he reached into his right pocket and pulled out a pocket knife that he used to slice open both the bags we brought up.  He put down three flat trays and instructed me; “ok, empieza a pasarme el pan.”

I went into the bag and began handing them over to him quickly.   “¿Por qué están tan duros?”  I asked.  I've never seen hard, icy bread before.  

“Porque tengamos que cocinarlo todavía,” he clarified, “estas son la masa del pan y las congelamos para que no se dañen antes de cocinarlas.  Vamos, más rápido papi,” he instructed, and I picked up the pace accordingly.   

Once they were all on trays, he pulled out a windex looking spray bottle that had a clear liquid in it and he began spraying the first tray of bread.  

“¿Que es eso?”  I asked

“Agua,” he responded, “para que se cocinen bien.  Tóma, échale a los otros,” he told me as he handed me over the bottle while he grabbed and slid the completed tray into the oven.  

I began spraying and after a bit he said; “no lo mojes tanto.  Y házlo más rápido papi.”  I tried doing it as fast as I could but started losing grip strength after about half a dozen rolls.  He took the bottle and said, “Ven para ayudarte,” and sprayed each roll from both remaining trays, precisely three times each, faster than the machine gun from Contra.  He put them in the oven.  “Ok,” he said, “Vamos a sazonar los pollos y ya estaremos listo para cuando abran el supermercado.”  

“¿Tu haces pollos también?”  I asked and he nodded in agreement.  

My Pops was Superman.  He woke up earlier than wakefulness.  He ran the deli in a Supermarket where he was also the most trusted employee.  He made bread, shot the shit with his coworkers that obviously liked him, and made whole chickens that I saw him season, marinate and slide onto spinning metal spits five at a time.  Then he put them into an oven that I now knew was the culprit behind a few burn-mark scars that he had on his hands and forearms.  He worked through lunch every single day and he serviced every single one of his customers with a smile, regardless of if he was sick that day, or in a shitty mood.  In retrospect, I realize that I internalized those traits and attempt to replicate that type of work ethic and discipline in my own life.   

”¿Tienes hambre?”  He asked me around lunch time.  I said no based on his body language not looking like he was letting up any time soon and I didn’t want him to think any less of me for wanting to take a break.  I was hungry though. 

“Tienes que comer algo mi hijo, te voy hacer un sándwich.  ¿Con que lo quieres?  Elige lo que quieras,” he said as he pointed to all the cold cuts I could choose from.

My brain filled up with combination ideas as my eyes glazed over all the options; ham, honey ham, Munster cheese, turkey, salami, bologna. 

My Dad offered a suggestion after seeing my indecision; “¿lo quieres con jamón y queso?

“No, no jamón,” I replied. 

“¿Y bologna?  He offered, “a ti te gusta eso.”

“No, tampoco quiero eso.”

Ultimately I settled on a buttered roll, with American cheese, and I shit you not, to this day, it was the best sandwich I've ever had.   I don't know what it was.  Maybe the fresh, warm roll contrasting with the cold cheese and creamy butter.  Maybe it was the love my Dad put into it.  Whatever it was, I haven’t had one that good since.

This lady walked by and behind the deli where we were.  

“Hola Carmen, ven a conocer a mi hijo,” my Dad told her. 

“Saludo,” she responded.  “¿Oh este es el Tony Jr.?  ¿Este es el grande o el pequeño?  ¿Tienes dos, no?”

“El pequeño,” my Dad replied. 

“Si ya estas vuelto un hombre,” she said, “hola papito yo soy Carmen, la amiga de tú papi.”

“Hola Carmen,” I said, loud enough this time.  Then I bit into the last quarter of my sandwich.  I love that my Dad cut it in fours, by the way, maybe that’s what made it taste better.  It made the sandwich last longer for sure.

”Tony que hai de bueno hoy?”  Tengo hambre.

“Bueno, le puedo hacer un sándwich,” my Dad told her.  

Good choice I thought to myself.   

“O le preparo una ensaladilta de papa con pollo, cuando esten listo,” he added as an option. 

“No, no quiero nada de eso hoy,” Carmen replied.  Voy a ir a los chinitos del lado a comprar una sopa.  ¿Quieres una?”  She asked my Dad.  

“No, no, ya yo comí,” my Dad said even though he hadn’t eaten.  He was just telling her that so he could get back to focusing on work.  He never ate lunch.  He worked straight through and ate a big meal when he got home.  My Mom would have a spread prepared for him every day as he walked in around 2:30-3:00PM sharp.  A mixed salad, plate of rice, bowl of beans, and a plate of a protein like pollo al horno or bistec encebollado.  Sometimes tostones too if plátanos were on sale that week and we had some left over from weekend breakfasts.

“Ok, después vengo a buscar a Tonito junior para que empaque y se haga unos chavitos,” Carmen said as she walked away.  “Nos vemos.” 

I was about to ask my Dad what she meant, by taking me with her to go pack, but he had a couple customers waiting, and the attention span of a seven year old, is not far off from that of a goldfish.   

After he finished giving them what they asked for, my Dad pulled out two rolls, and started making a couple sandwiches.  I wasn't sure who they were for until he wrapped them in aluminum foil, put them in a plastic bag and called me over.  

“¿Te recuerdas dónde trabajan Miguel y Ramón?”  He asked me.

“¿Abajo?”  I responded for confirmation.

“Si.  ¿Sabes llegar para mandarle estos sándwichitos contigo?”

I nodded yes but my Dad saw the doubt on my face.  

“Ok ven para encaminarte,” he said.   

He walked me over to aisle 12, which had the double doors we had gone through at the opposite end.  

“¿Ves la puerta allá?”  

“Si,” I said excitedly, and began walking with purpose.  

“Llevaselo y ven para atras enseguida.” 

“Ok Papi,” I responded.  

My heart rate sped up as I pushed through the double doors and went down the dingy staircase.  I counted the steps as I walked down.  Whenever I got nervous, or anxious I used to start counting things as a way to distract myself from the nerves.  Stairs, white sneakers, cracks on the wall, anything that was within eye shot.  When I got to the bottom of the staircase I looked around  and didn't see them at first.  Then I heard some boxes being tossed down from a delivery truck outside and slid across the room on this really long waist-high shelf that had metal wheels all over it.   Ramón looked over and saw me standing there.  

“Hey Tonito, nos trajiste el lonche?”  Ramón asked, noticing the bag I was carrying.  

“Si, mi papa le mando sándwiches,” I responded while raising the bag up.   

“Oh good,” Ramón said in English.   “That's my favorite lunch.  Put it over there, ensima de esa caja please.”

“Ok,” I obliged.  I know my Dad told me to go right back up, but you know, attention spans.  I was in awe of the fluidity in which the truck driver tossed Miguel boxes, which he slid down to Ramón, who caught them, put them on the long waist-high shelf with metal wheels and slid them across the room.  Ramón noticed and asked; “you want to try?”

I nodded and he called me over.  

“La caja viene dura cuando el la tira, ok.  Yo la agarro y te la paso a ti.  Then you slide it down that way,” he said as he pointed.

“Ok,” I responded.   And the first box came down, hard and fast like he said it would.  He stopped it with the hand he had a glove on, spun around and placed it on the shelf for me.  “Ok, take it away,” he said.   I kept my hands on the box as I ran alongside the rolling shelf and slid it across almost all the way to the end before I let it go and watched it land where all the other boxes were.  

“Good job, but you got to be fast.  Ven para atrás,” Ramón said as he already had two more boxes waiting.  I slid the first one down, which didn't make it all the way to the end and then the second that landed right behind it.  I was clearly stifling their progress, so I wasn't surprised when Ramón said, “ok, one more papa.”  He handed it to me and I ran alongside with it and finished pushing all 3 boxes the full way.  

“Good job, Tony Junior.  Dile gracias a tu papi,” said Ramón.  

“Ok, bye Ramón,” I said as I ran up the stairs, excited to tell my Dad how I helped out.  

I got up the stairs, ran down the aisle and around the Deli counter.  My Dad was servicing a customer.  

“Half a pound of boars head ham,” he asked with a monotone voice.

“Sure, sure.”  My Dad responded as he quickly grabbed a hunk of ham, placed it on the slicer machine, that he told me never to get near, put down a sheet of parchment paper which he had pre-folded a bunch of during his morning preparation and began slicing.   I wanted to wait for him to finish but I couldn't contain myself.  

“Pa, yo ayude a Ramón y a Miguel,”  I blurted out. 

“¿O Si?  Wow que bueno.  ¿Qué hiciste?”  He asked while he weighed the sliced meat on the scale, looked over at the customer and said; “this is my son.”

The customer seemed to be as uninterested as his voice sounded.

“Anything else?”  My Dad asked with a smile.  

“No,” the grumpster responded, as he grabbed his ham and waddled away.  

“¿Y que hiciste?  Dime,” my Dad asked me.  

“Me dierón cajas que vinierón en un delivery, y yo la lleve en el slide al otro lado,” I said. 

“Oh, ya llego el delivery de Krasdale?”  He interrupted.

“Uhuh,” I said as I nodded in agreement even though I didn't know where the delivery was from.  “Y yo tire la caja lejo en el shelf largo que tieno wheels.”

“Que tiene ruedas” he corrected.

“Si,” I responded. 

”Que bueno mi hijo, va ser buen trabajador tu.”  

“Aja,” I agreed and added; “I want to work here one day, just like you.”

“No mi hijo,” my Dad responded as he shook his head and smiled, “tu tienes que ir a la escuela, seguir siendo un estudiante sobresaliente, grauduarte de la universidad y despues vas a tener un trabajo profesional.  Con corbata puesta, y en una oficina.  Y ahi, tu vas a ser un buen trabajador.”

I let that marinate for a minute.  That was the first time I can remember internalizing that my fathers efforts, hard work, and sacrifices had more to do with his goals for me and our family than with his goals for himself.  

Carmen walked over sipping a juice.  She slid open one of my Dads’ fridge doors and put it in.

“Tony, voy dejar el juguito aqui  para que no se me caliente,” she said. 

“Ok,” my Dad responded.  

“Tonito, quiere hacer chavo?”  She asked me.

I gave her a stare that was half ‘I don't know what you're talking about’ mixed with ‘but I'm in.’

“Ven ayudarme un ratito, te voy a enseñar a empacar,” she said.  “Tony me lo voy a llevar para que me empaque,” she told my Dad.  

I looked over to see if it was ok with him or not, as he turned away from servicing another customer, “si, si vallen,” he said, and I did.  

Carmen was cool.  She quickly became one of my favorite people at the Supermarket.  She was a cashier and taught me how to pack bags for the customers she rang up.  She taught me to double-bag, to place heavier items like cans and jars on the bottom and lighter items on top.  Meat should always be individually wrapped in a single bag, before putting it into the double bag.  This is to avoid it leaking blood onto other items.   Eggs and bread, always went in separate single bags.  No matter what.  Even if the customer only bought two things.   Even if they only bought bread and eggs ... separate them.  

I liked that she didn't speak to me like I was a kid and even cussed sometimes around me.  Whenever an aggravated customer didn't like how I packed or complained, she'd defend me to them and helped me fix what I did wrong.  

“Tonito, no puede poner el pan debajo de algo duro.  Lo vas a machucar.   Todo los que es asi va en una bolsa separrada,” she would instruct.  

”Ok Carmen,” I responded politely.  

When a customer didn't tip, or was stingy, she'd let them have it.  

“No me le va dar nada al niño?  He's working hard too,” she'd say.  

It was towards the end of my Dads shift already, he got off at 2.  So I told Carmen I had to go.

“Ok Tonito, gracias.  Ven ayudame mañana,” she said.  

Her inviting me back made me happy, because I figured I must've not done that bad of a job.  I was about to walk away and she said, “esperate, llevate tu chavo, eso es tuyo papito,” she said as she pointed to my small bucket of change.  “Ven, para cambiartelo.  Pero siempre cuenta tu chavo primero,” she instructed as she spread it all out, counted it up, opened the register and gave me the equivalent in bills.  

I didn't really think I was gonna get to keep the money.  I made about $3.85 in a couple of hours.  I ran over to my Dad, ecstatic.  

“Papi, mira” I told him, as I held up the bills and loose change.

“Wow, te ganaste todo eso?”  He asked. 

“Si!” I responded.  

“¿Y trabajaste bien?”  He asked.  

“Si, y Carmen me dijo que venga mañana a trabajar otravez,” I added.

“Mañana no papi,” my Dad responded, “el día es muy largo los sábados.  Pero yo te traigo el Lunes.”

“Ok,” I said as the news momentarily burst my bubble, but then I remembered my fist full of cash and started smiling again.  

“¿Que tu va hacer con el dinero tuyo?”  My Dad asked.  

“Le voy dar uno a ti, uno a mami, uno a manito,” I responded as I was splitting up my earnings in my head without really doing the math.  

“No papi, a mi no me tienes que dar nada,” my Dad responded.  “Mejor guardalo para que quando comienze la escuela, tenga tu dinerito.”

“Ok Pa,” I said as Norma walked in.  She worked the Deli from 2pm to closing time.   She was nice and gave me a big hug as if I knew her already.  My Dad told her about the orders he was going to put in for stuff that was running low, and reminded her to write down anything else that she thinks they may need.  With that we left and were on our way home.  Two hard working dudes after a long day.  

That weekend was a blur to me.  I couldn't wait until Monday came back around so that I could go with my Dad again.  If it were up to me I would go every single day.  When I went back on Monday, I hung out with the guys downstairs around lunch time, packed bags for Carmen again and best of all, bonded with Dad.  It was slower on Monday so I only made $2.65. Tuesday I made $4.25 and Wednesday $3.50.

On Wednesday when I went to take the guys their lunch, there wasn't a delivery coming in that I could help with.  They were breaking down boxes and tying them up. 

“Hey Tonito, quieres aprender un acertijo?” Miguel asked.   

“¿Que es eso?”  I asked. 

“¿No sabes que es eso?”  Responded Miguel, “es como una canción o una poema pero mas pequeña.”

“Es un riddle,” added Ramón.  

“Oh ok, si yo se,” I responded. 

“Ok, repeat it with me,” Miguel said in broken English.  

“Entre melón y melambe,” he said.  

“Entre melón y”… I repeated but blanked out on the last word.  

“Melambe,” Ramón chimed in as he continued breaking down boxes with his box cutter and stepping on them.  

“Entre melón y melambe,” I said. 

“Matarón un pajarito,” Miguel continued. 

“Matarón un pajarito,” I repeated. 

“Melón se comio las plumas,” continued Miguel

“Melón se comio la pluma,” I repeated. 

“Y Melambe es el pajarito,” he finished with a big smile and Ramón began laughing. 

“Y Melambe que?” I said as I laughed along even though I didn't get it. 

“Melambe es el pajarito,” Miguel repeated.  “Ok te lo aprendiste para que se lo diga a tu papi?”

“Dejame ver,” I said as I recalled the riddle.  “Entre Melambe y Melón, no no,” I quickly self-corrected, “entre Melón y Melambe, matarón un pajarito.  Ummm, Melón?”

“Si, Melón se comio las plumas y Melambe es el pajarito,” Miguel added. 

Then I said it from beginning to end three times back to back, with each time Miguel and Ramón laughing even harder.   

“Ok Tony junior, ve dile a tu Pai,” said Ramón.  

I ran back upstairs to tell my Dad the new riddle I learned.  

“Papi, papi!”  I shouted with excitement.  

“Dime mi hijo,” he responded. 

“Aprendi una nuevo poema.”

“¿Si?  ¿Quien te lo enseño, Carmen?“ He asked. 

“No, Miguel y Ramón,” I responded. 

“Oh ok, dime la.  ¿Como es?”

“Entre melón y melambe matarón un pajarito.

Melón se comio las plumas y melambe es el

pajarito.”

I waited for my Dad to burst out in laughter like the guys did, but he didn’t.  He did smile and shake his head though, and that’s about the same thing coming from him.  He shook his head in a “they pranked me” sort of a way.   

“Estuvo buena esa,” he told me, and although I still didn’t fully get the riddle, he made me feel like I was part of their inside joke. 

The next day I had a Doctors appointment that my Mom took me to, so I couldn’t go to work with my Dad.  I was eager to get back on Friday, especially since I knew I wasn’t going to get to go all weekend.  It was a good day for me, I made  $8.00!  My biggest take to date.  The supermarket was buzzing and Carmen was telling me how much busier it gets on Saturdays.  

“¿Vas a venir mañana?”  She asked.  

“No,” I said sadly, “mañana Papi trabaja tarde y dijo que yo me cansaría si vengo.”

“Oh ok.  ¿Y tu crees que te cansaría?”  She asked. 

“No, yo puedo trabajar mucho también.  Todos los días,” I responded.  

“Pues ve dile a tu papi, que Carmen necesitas tu ayuda mañana, y que quieres que tú venga,” she suggested.

“¿De verdad?” I asked to make sure she wasn’t messing with me.  

“Si, ve dile,” she replied, “vamos a ver lo que el dice.  Si dice que no, no perdemos nada con preguntar.  Ya tienes el ‘no,’ tengamos que buscar el ‘si.’”

I started to make my way toward the deli, heart racing.  I usually didn’t ask my Dad for stuff, not directly anyways.  I’d try my Mom as a litmus test first.  These were extreme times though, I thought.   If I waited until I’d get home, he and my Mom would both say no for sure.  Here, I could speak to him man-to-man.  Coworker-to-coworker.  He’d be proud that I’m willing and wanting to work so hard.  Plus, Carmen having my back was like having an ace up my sleeve.  I didn’t think I could lose.  

“Pa,” I said in a tone that hinted at me wanting something. 

“Dime papi,” he responded.  

“¿Yo puedo venir mañana?” I asked.  

“Tu sabes que mañana es sábado papi,” he replied, “el día es muy largo.  Y tú no puedes dejar a mami sola el día entero.”

“Es nadamas un día,” I said, “y Carmen dijo que necesita mi ayuda.”

“¿O si?” My Dad responded.  “¿Y no vas a llorar o cansarte mucho?”

“No!” I said excitedly at the thought of him considering it.

“Bueno,” he responded, “vamos a ver lo que diga mami cuando lleguemos hoy.”

After we got home, my Mom proved to be a harder sell.  I nagged her all afternoon, offered to do chores and said I’d go to bed super early.  My Dad eventually co-signed, probably because he was tired of hearing me whine about it, and she finally gave in.  I was ecstatic.  I washed the dishes after we ate, showered, picked out my clothes for the next day and laid them out. I skipped playing Sega Genesis with my brother, and went to bed early, just like I said I would.  I wasn’t tired, and was super excited so I didn’t fall asleep right away.  I wanted to though, so that I could pull tomorrow into today that much sooner. 

When dawn became dusk and our day began, we were off to the races.  It was a hard workday for anyone I’m sure, and I was pulling it off at 7 years old.  I was packing like a pro.   I had a stack of double bags setup from my own little version of morning preparation and I added to that stockpile whenever there was a fleeting lull between customers.  If Carmen went on break or didn’t have a customer, I’d hop over to her neighbor Gloria’s line and bagged for her.  I was in a grocery bagging flow state.  It was my fight night.  My game day.  And I crushed it.  I was hopped-up on the sugar and caffeine I had from two cans of soda that I bought from the vending machine.  I spent $1.50 of my own money on a Sunkist and a Welch’s grape, which were exotic compared to the Coke and Pepsi that I was used to at home.  I also spent $0.25 on a gum-ball and $0.50 on one of those sticky, stretchy hand toys that came in those see-through plastic  bubbles with a red bottom.  Still, even after all that, I raked in $17.88!  I was through the moon.  Exhausted and had a brand new appreciation for my Dad’s ability to wake up early and put in the work for his family day in and day out ... but ecstatic nonetheless.  

The summer was coming to a close and the new school year was a couple weeks out.  That epic Saturday wound up being the second to last day that I went to work with my Dad that summer, and one of the most memorable for sure.  

During the last week before school started, my Dad gave my Mom some money for the school supplies that my brother and I needed.  My list was longer and contained things like 3 black & white marble notebooks, two number 2 pencils, 1 red pen, which excited me because I’ve never used one before.  I always thought they were strictly for teachers.  

We were walking down the aisles of one of the stores on Liberty Ave, when I saw it.  The pencil case of all pencil cases.  The red rider BB gun of pencil cases.  It was a rectangular box like most, but had a plastic trapper-keeper like padding on it and had a rad design.  It was blue and it had these light gray draws lining the base of it, which ... wait for it ... sprung open with the touch of a button!  How dope is that??  There was even a button on the side that made a 6-inch ruler pop out.  I could use one of the draws for my eraser, another for a sharpener, one for paper clips, and I’m sure I’d find use for the others.  I turned it over to look at the price tag and it was $15.99.  There’s no way my Mom would be able to get it for me.  That was almost half of my entire school supply budget.  I put it down and began to walk away dejected, before I had a mini-epiphany.  I had $17 of my hard earned dollars in my pocket! 

I continued to walk around the store with my Mom while I mustered up the gumption to shoot my shot and ask her if I could buy it.

“¿Cuanto cuesta?”  She asked. 

“$15 pesos,” I responded leaving out the $0.99 plus tax.

“¿Tu esta loco muchacho?  Eso es demasiado caro para eso.  Compra unos de esos,” she said as she pointed to a bulky rectangular plastic pencil case, that was as devoid of style as it was empty inside...but it only cost $3.99. 

“Ma,” I responded with my last-ditch effort, “pero yo tengo mi dinero tambien,” I reassured.   

“Bueno,” she responded, “tu debería guardar ese dinero.”

“¿Para que?” I asked.  I just learned about earning, but as the money was burning a whole in my pocket, saving was an alien concept to me.  

“Siempre se debería guardar algo mi hijo.  Uno nunca sabe lo de mañana,” she said, “pero, tu trabajaste por ese dinero, y puedes comprar lo que quieras,” she added.

My eyes opened up as wide as my smile expanded ear-to-ear.  I thanked her then ran over and grabbed my pencil case.  The most exhilarating thing was that it was the last one left! 

At the register I reached into my pocket, pulled out my black and red velcro wallet, and handed over my slightly crumbled and folded $17.00 to my Mom.  

She took $10.00, and handed me back $7.00.  “Toma mi hijo, guarda eso para que pueda comprar algo en la escuela,” she said. 

My Mom figured she would have spent $4.00 - $5.00 on a pencil case anyway, so she decided to subsidize the one I wanted so that I didn’t blow all of my money on one purchase.  She was resourceful like that.  

That pencil case was my pride and joy.   On day one of school, I placed it at the top of my desk, perfectly parallel with the edge while some class mates, I was sure, gazed over in astonishment.  To me, a glow was radiating off of it.  It was the most amazing thing I owned.  It was the most fulfilling purchase I’ve made to date.  The culmination of hard work yielding results that cultivate my desires.  

As the excitement of starting a new school year faded it was replaced with the mundanity that came along with a long year of lessons and endless homework assignments.  What became of that pencil case as the year churned on is as good a guess of yours as it is of mine.  I’d like to say that I still have it.   That it occupies a spot on some prized-possession shelf, but I vaguely recall it eventually beginning to deteriorate as the things of children do.  Springs became sprung, some of the gray plastic draws wouldn’t open, others wouldn’t close.  I’m sure I ruined the exterior with stickers that I had second thoughts about and removed while leaving behind that sticky cotton-like residue.  Where the physical pieces of it wound up however, wasn’t as important as it’s lasting impact.  It was the first major purchase I made with money I earned and it watered the seed that my father planted via his exemplary work ethic.  It reinforced the importance of responsibility and highlighted the fact that hard work really did pay off.