Charlie was counting coins yesterday as part of a his math lesson. I was helping out a little.
Nickels and quarters can look alike to a little boy.
As he worked through the various combinations, he landed upon 15 cents. “Look, Dad. Two ways to make 15 cents.”
He was right. Two ways to make 15 cents unless you’re using pennies, but we should’ve eliminated pennies a long time ago. They cost more than a penny to manufacture and are becoming more and more obsolete by the day.
Bur what I really I wanted to tell Charlie is this:
You only exist because of 15 cents.
Back in 1987, I was ready to find my first real job. There were plenty of opportunities. Stores, restaurants, and the like were all hiring in my town and neighboring towns, but my friend, Danny Pollock, had heard that the McDonald’s restaurant in the town of Milford was paying 15 cents over minimum wage.
Milford was about 10 miles north of my hometown of Blackstone, MA. About 20 minutes away. A foolish decision in retrospect., Not only did that mean a 20 minute commute to work after school and in the summer, but that 15 cents per hour would quickly be spent in the gas required to get there.
It was also during one of those Milford to Blackstone commutes that I would nearly die in a head-on collision.
Lots of reasons not to go north for work.
But north we went, and Danny and I were hired on the spot after an interview in the side lobby with a store manager named Diane Frotten. It turned out that McDonald’s was paying $4.65, a full dollar over minimum wage, as most businesses were doing at the time.
The economy was good, and there were plenty of jobs to be had. Businesses had to pay more or risk being understaffed.
Danny quit after a short time and went to work washing dishes across the street at a full service restaurant, but I remained. I quickly rose to manager during my junior year in high school and worked at McDonald’s for more than a decade, leaving McDonald’s only when I arrested, jailed, homeless, and working for a short time in a bank.
Brief interruptions in what amounted to a significant portion of my life.
Eight McDonald’s restaurants in all spanning three states.
Most important, I met Bengi at that first McDonald’s.
I met Bengi on a Saturday morning. We bonded over our ability to sing the Disney’s Adventures of the Gummi Bears animated series theme song word-for-word (which I can still do today – both verses).
Bengi would become my best friend. When I was kicked out of my home following high school, Bengi and I lived together in a townhouse in Attleboro, MA. Bengi attended Bryant University. I worked like a dog.
We were both very poor. Happy but poor.
When Bengi graduated, he moved to Connecticut. I was delayed in joining him by 18 months thanks to my arrest, jail, homelessness, and trial for a crime I did not commit. But once I was found not guilty, Bengi introduced me to a girl in Connecticut, and shortly thereafter, I moved here permanently.
Had I not driven north in search of 15 extra cents per hour, I would’ve never met Bengi.
Had I not met Bengi, I never would’ve moved to Connecticut. Never would’ve attended school here. Never would’ve been hired to work at Wolcott School in West Hartford, CT, where I have been for 22 years.
Had I not been hired to work at Wolcott, I never would’ve met Elysha in the fall of 2002. Never would’ve fallen in love with her. Never would’ve married her.
Clara and Charlie exist because of the promise of 15 cents.
It’s incredible how so much of our lives, and the lives of others, hinge on such infinitesimal moments in our lives.
It’s a little frightening, too. With a tiny nudge in one direction or another, my life would be entirely different today. My children would not exist.
It’s hard to fathom how enormous a role 15 cents has made in my life.
Thank goodness it did.
