Two Cents a Week
Written by
Mary Krakow
November 2013
Written by
Mary Krakow
November 2013

     When I was a kid I got two cents a week. Every Friday at breakfast Dad asked if I wanted my two cents now or if I wanted him to put it in the bank. I nearly always had him put it in the bank. What good was two cents to me? We lived a mile from Loyola Corners and the nearest store. Too far for my five year old legs.  I spent my days climbing trees, catching tadpoles, and running with a pack of neighborhood kids. 

     Two cents doesn’t sound like much today, but in 1960 two pieces of bubble gum cost a penny and came with full-color comics featuring Bazooka Joe.  Gumball machines took pennies, a candy bar was a nickel, and you could buy a tootsie pop for two cents.

     I can’t quite picture Dad hobbling into the bank every Friday and passing two copper coins across the counter with instructions to “Put this in Mary Anne’s account.” A more likely scenario has him wandering in every few weeks and depositing a dollar. So in the end, my thrift paid off. 

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