Silver Dollars

I never really had grandparents. My father’s parents passed away before I was born. My mother’s father took off when she was a baby and her mother was crazy. I mean, nutty as a fruitcake. What I did have was my father’s aunt who lived in East Los Angeles. She was very short, had very red hair and spoke very little english (she would speak to my dad in spanish and he would always reply in english so that my mom and I would always know what was going on). She was like a teeny tiny spanish Lucille Ball. I called her Nena.
We visited her once or twice a month. She would always have lemon drops and root beer floats waiting for me. Dad would do her shopping, mow her front lawn and help her with her bills. Since this was East Los Angeles, she did not have a back yard, but a patio between the house and the detached garage filled with mostly junk. I spent my time on a wrought iron swing covered by an awning listening to the sounds of traffic and spanish.
The best part of each trip came as we were about to leave. Nena would take my hand and lead me to her room in the back of the house. She spoke spanish the entire time, which I did not understand but always nodded in agreement. Then she would take a silver dollar out of her dresser, press it tightly in my hand and bring her finger to her lips making sure I knew this was just for me and not to tell my parents. After about 15 years she ran out of silver dollars; which were immediately replaced by two dollar bills. The second I closed the door to the car, my dad’s hand appeared from the front seat with a dollar in his hand and he’d tell me to hand it over, which I did. I didn’t care - money is money.
After my dad passed away, we found an old tootsie roll bank in his desk. It took forever to pry open, but when we did, hundreds of silver dollars from the seventies and eighties spilled out. He had kept every one of them. We realized that he had intended to continue the tradition with my son, but never got the chance as he was not yet old enough to understand. I hope my father knew how precious these memories are to me and that the love and commitment of this tradition made me feel special and loved. Hopefully, one day I will be able to ask him.