I can’t tell you the amount of coins
My father found when he was alive.
All aligned waiting for him,
To stop and pick up.
He’d catch a glimpse of their silvery,
Laying flat and unimportant on the sidewalk.
When he’d pick them up I’d smile
In amazement that he could spot so many
Of these neglected, inconspicuous currency;
While others walk so proudly without
Those years of watching my father collect coins
Cultivated a thing inside me,
A golden eye
For silvery plunder.
I can walk the street
With any of my friends
And they will tell you
I’ve never seen anyone find as much money as she does.
A skeptic would say, “You just have to look.”
But I say,
It’s Daddy saying Hello.
– Porridge: A Memoir
A memoir about life after death, and a little girl who nearly lost her life after her father lost his.