A Dime and a Penny
	This is a different story than the one about my oldest brother, Sonny, wrapping his younger brother in a blanket and carrying him into the movie because the sign out in front said "Babes In Arms, FREE". It's still, however, about the Seminole Theater, and my brother, Sonny. All my older siblings had eleven cents to go to the picture show. Andy and I weren't born yet. This would've been around 1940. Sonny had his dime and a penny ready to go in. The dime was to see the movie and the penny was for a wonderful set of scales out in front. I don't remember the scales because they were no longer there by the time I came along. They were said to be magnificent, gold in color and ornate. I picture them being Art Deco like most design was during that period. Or maybe they were Egyptian in appearance, in keeping with the recent discovery of, and obsession with, King Tut's tomb. The scales gave your weight and your fortune. Sonny stepped up to the scales with his penny and plinked it into the slot. I don't know what the fortune said, but I'm reasonably sure it did not say "You just put your dime into the scales". He had no idea what he had done until he was at the glass ticket booth and slid the man his "dime" and it turned out to be the penny. He explained to the man what had happened but his words fell on deaf, hairy ears. "Sorry, kid." What made this so unfortunate is that Sonny was probably the kindest person that's ever been. Almost forty years later, I bet you think I'm going to say they found those scales and he got his dime back. Nope. Forty years later, I was around thirty-five years old. I was going to meet my friend, Paula at Chili's Restaurant for dinner. She worked for Delta Airlines and was in Tampa, so touching base at Chili's was something we did periodically. As I hurried out of my house I checked my wallet and I had three ten-dollar bills and three ones. Back then you could easily buy two meals and leave a tip for thirty-three dollars. As I parked my car and started walking toward the restaurant, there was a young man walking in my direction. When I realized he was specifically approaching me, I took my glasses off, from force of habit, and put them in my shirt pocket. I had just recently started wearing glasses and instinctively would take them off when talking to people directly. I guess I didn't want to look like an old coot. Anyway, the guy said that his car had run out of gas, that he had no money and asked if I could please spare a dollar. He said, "I promise you it's not for beer or anything like that." Believe me, I was no stranger to running out of gas. He seemed like a nice kid so I said, "Sure," and gave him the three one-dollar bills I had. He was very appreciative and thanked me profusely. Three dollars then was like twenty dollars now. He went on his way and I went on in to Chili's where Paula was waiting. Paula and I had a very nice meal and long visit. It had been over a year since I had seen her. We talked and laughed about our dressing up like vampires for Halloween and me running out of gas in the middle of one of the busiest intersections while I was dressed like Dracula. We reminisced about so many great times we'd had. When the waitress brought the check I took out my wallet and, of course, there were the three one-dollar bills. I instantly envisioned the parking lot guy, gushing with appreciation. No wonder. I had given him the thirty dollars. Paula waited there while I drove home and got some more money. From that point on I started leaving my glasses on, especially when dealing with money, and in the light. Lash Out Loud