Nice Story.

[welk2party]

I red this today and thought it was a nice story. Enjoy!
>>
>The pickle jar as far back as I can remember sat on the floor beside
>the dresser in my parents' bedroom. When he got ready for bed, Dad
>would empty his pockets and toss his coins into the jar. As a small
>boy I was always fascinated at the sounds the coins made as they were
>dropped into the jar. They landed with a merry jingle when the jar was
>
>almost empty. Then the tones gradually muted to a dull thud as the jar
>
>was filled. I used to squat on the floor in front of the jar and
>admire the copper and silver circles that glinted like a pirate's
>treasure when the sun poured through the bedroom window. When the jar
>was filled, Dad would sit at the kitchen table and roll the coins
>before taking them to the bank. Taking the coins to the bank was
>always a big production. Stacked neatly in a small cardboard box, the
>coins were placed between Dad and me on the seat of his old truck.
>
>Each and every time, as we drove to the bank, Dad would look at me
>hopefully. "Those coins are going to keep you out of the textile mill,
>
>son. You're going to do better than me. This old mill town's not going
>
>to hold you back."
>
>Also, each and every time, as he slid the box of rolled coins across
>the counter at the bank toward the cashier, he would grin
>proudly. "These are for my son's college fund. He'll never work at the
>
>mill all his life like me."
>
>We would always celebrate each deposit by stopping for an ice cream
>cone. I always got chocolate. Dad always got vanilla. When the clerk
>at the ice cream parlor handed Dad his change, he would show me the
>few coins nestled in his palm. "When we get home, we'll start filling
>the jar again." He always let me drop the first coins into the empty
>jar. As they rattled around with a brief, happy jingle, we grinned at
>each other. "You'll get to college on pennies, nickels, dimes and
>quarters," he said. "But you'll get there. I'll see to that."
>
>The years passed, and I finished college and took a job in another
>town. Once, while visiting my parents, I used the phone in their
>bedroom, and noticed that the pickle jar was gone. It had served its
>purpose and had been removed.
>
>A lump rose in my throat as I stared at the spot beside the dresser
>where the jar had always stood. My dad was a man of few words, and
>never lectured me on the values of determination, perseverance, and
>faith. The pickle jar had taught me all these virtues far more
>eloquently than the most flowery of words could have done. When I
>married, I told my wife Susan about the significant part the lowly
>pickle jar had played in my life as a boy. In my mind, it defined,
>more than anything else, how much my dad had loved me.
>
>No matter how rough things got at home, Dad continued to doggedly drop
>
>his coins into the jar. Even the summer when Dad got laid off from the
>
>mill, and Mama had to serve dried beans several times a week, not a
>single dime was taken from the jar. To the contrary, as Dad looked
>across the table at me, pouring catsup over my beans to make them more
>
>palatable, he became more determined than ever to make a way out for
>me. "When you finish college, Son," he told me, his eyes
>glistening, "You'll never have to eat beans again...unless you want
>to."
>
>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 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.
>
>
>This truly touched my heart... I know it has yours as well. Sometimes
>we are so busy adding up our troubles that we forget to count our
>blessings.
>
>Never underestimate the power of your actions. With one small gesture
>you can change a person's life, for better or for worse.

[FMluvswater]

Thanks for posting that. Heartstring tugging is okay sometimes. just don't go making a habit of it , lol j/k. Nice story for sure.

[welk2party]

Originally posted by FMluvswaterbabe
just don't go making a habit of it , lol j/k. Nice story for sure.

[checkster]

Thank you for sharing that story...........

[JustMVG]

CANINE ANSWERING MACHINE
An elderly lady phoned her telephone company to report that her
telephone failed to ring when her friends called - and that on the few
occasions when it did ring, her pet dog always moaned right before the phone
rang. The telephone repairman proceeded to the scene, curious to see
this psychic dog or senile elderly lady.
He climbed a nearby telephone pole, hooked in his test set, and dialed
the subscriber's house. The phone didn't ring right away, but then the
dog moaned loudly and the telephone began to ring.
Climbing down from the pole, the telephone repairman found:
1. The dog was tied to the telephone system's ground wire via a steel
chain and collar.
2. The wire connection to the ground rod was loose.
3. The dog was receiving 90 volts of signaling current when the phone
number was called.
4. After a couple of such jolts, the dog would start moaning and then
urinate on itself and the ground.
5. The wet ground would complete the circuit, thus causing the phone to
ring.
Which demonstrates that some problems CAN be fixed by pissing and
moaning.

[JustMVG]

ON PAROLE
A woman awakes during the night to find that her husband was not in
their bed. She puts on her robe and goes downstairs to look for him. She
finds him sitting at the kitchen table with a hot cup of coffee in
front of him. He appears to be in deep thought, just staring at the wall.
She watches as he wiped a tear from his eye and takes a sip of his
coffee.
"What's the matter, dear?" she whispers as she steps into the room,
"Why are you down here at this time of night?".
The husband looks up from his coffee, "Do you remember 20 years ago
when we were dating, and you were only 16?" he asks solemnly.
"Yes I do" she replies.
The husband paused. The words were not coming easily. "Do you remember
when your father caught us in the back seat of my car making love?
"Yes, I remember" said the wife, lowering herself into a chair beside
him.
The husband continued. "Do you remember when he shoved the shotgun in
my face and said, 'Either you marry my daughter, or I will send you to
jail for 20 years?"
"I remember that too" she replied softly.
He wiped another tear from his cheek and said - "I would have gotten
out today."