The first Christmas after our daughter Jessica was born， we spent the holiday with my parents. After dinner， Mom and Dad sat next to each other on the sofa， taking turns cuddling their first grandchild. Jessica began to whimper softly， and Susan took her from Dad’s arms. “She probably needs to be changed.” she said， carrying the baby into my parents’ bedroom to diaper her.
When Susan came back into the living room， there was a strange mist in her eyes. She handed Jessica back to Dad before taking my hand and quietly leading me into the room.
“Look.” she said softly， her eyes directing me to a spot on the floor beside the dresser. To my amazement， there， as if it had never been removed， stood the old pickle jar， the bottom already covered with coins. I walked over to the pickle jar， dug down into my pocket， and pulled out a fistful of coins. With a gamut of emotions choking me， I dropped the coins into the jar. I looked up and saw that Dad， carrying Jessica， had slipped quietly into the room. Our eyes locked， and I knew he was feeling the same emotions I felt. Neither one of us could speak.
自从我记事起，那个大腌菜罐就在父母卧室梳妆台旁的地板上放着。每晚，爸爸上床睡觉前，都要把口袋里的硬币全掏出来，扔进罐子里。小时候，我很喜欢听硬币扔进罐子时所发出的声响。罐子快要空的时候，硬币投进去发出轻快的叮当声。罐子快要装满时，叮当声便慢慢地变成了沉闷的砰砰声。太阳从卧室的窗子射进来时，照在罐子里的硬币上，它们就如海盗劫掠去的珍宝一般熠熠闪光。每到这时，我就会蹲下身来欣赏这些亮晶晶的硬币。
罐子满后，爸爸便坐在餐桌旁，用纸把硬币卷起来，然后存到银行去。把硬币拿到银行存并不是件容易的事。通常，我们是开着爸爸那辆旧卡车去。我们把硬币齐刷刷地堆进一个小硬纸盒里，放在我和爸爸的座位之间。每次，我们开车去银行时，爸爸都充满希望地看着我：“那些钱将会使你离开纺织厂，儿子。你会生活得比我好。这个古老的工业小镇不会再拖你的后腿，你就可以自由发展了。”他每次在银行的柜台前，把那成卷的硬币推给出纳员时，总是咧着嘴骄傲地笑个不停：“这些钱是准备供我儿子上大学的。他绝不会像我一样，在工厂里工作一辈子。”