“A penny for your thoughts.”
That is an old phase.
English-based, as I think pennies first were.
In 1546, a literary gentleman of Albion, by the name of John Heywood, penned a book of English proverbs. Included in the tome (the volume was reportedly 200 pages in length) is the catchy salutation that titles this web log (or “blog”) post.
“A penny for your thoughts.”
The words are grouped in such a fashion that one might use them to draw another from personal reverie to considered attention.
I’ll pay you a penny for your thoughts.
“What are you thinking?”
What, indeed?
Perhaps a thought of pennies.
Pennies are old. One source suggests King Offa of Mercia minted a silver penny around 785 AD. From the map, it looks like Mercia was smack dab in the middle of Anglo-Saxon Britain — England, as we know it today.
In 1792, The United States Mint continued the tradition from beyond the sea. That year a pure copper penny emblazoned with Lady Liberty was introduced into circulation. In 1857, the penny was downgraded to 88% copper and 12% nickel and fitted with a flying eagle. In 1859, the eagle was replaced by Lady Liberty making a comeback, but this time she was regaled in a stylish headdress of native American origins. This is the famed Indian Head cent and it remained in circulation for some fifty years. In 1909, President Abraham Lincoln took center stage on the shining circlet, and he continues in that position of prominence to this very day.
Old Abe is an imposing figure.
Unfortunately, not so the cent.
The US penny is now 2.5% copper plating over a zinc body.
I still consider it good luck to find a penny. I find more these days and I’m not really looking. I suspect folks just drop and leave. The cent is not worth the bend. I spot the discards by the reflection of white zinc worn through the copper coating. I bend, retrieve, rub and rotate the coin in the light to help make out the date hidden on the scratched and abraded surface. That’s part of the good luck. The recall of memories from the found year.
I put the penny in my pocket and I’m sad. I’m sad because I feel the penny is not what it used to be. People don’t care for them like they used to. Things aren’t the same, and I know that’s okay, but I’m still sad when I slip that worn penny into my pocket.
When I was a kid, I rode my bike five miles to the bank in our small downtown. Around the handlebars was wrapped a yellow moneybag with the bank logo faded to indecipherability. There was no money in the bag. The money was safe in the pocket of my jeans. I’d get to the bank and trade my savings for rolls of pennies. 50 pennies to the roll. Back home, I’d sort the hoard to find new years for my collection. My oldest and favoritess find was a Lincoln-head penny from 1909. That was the year of President Lincoln’s first minting. I never found an Indian Head penny, but my Dad gave me the ones he’d found as a boy. When my parents moved to assisted living, my sister discovered the collection and mailed me the blue folders with the single cents each carefully cataloged by the year of its issue.
I didn’t mean to write about pennies. I was going to write about Penny Lane, the Beatles, and Life in the Fast Lane. Roads, highways, interstates, the autostrada and autobahn, fancy speeding cars, and lifestyles going so fast we don’t slow down much anymore.
So, I didn’t write about that, but I guess I did anyway.
When I take the grandkids to the mall, we lean over the fountain, the water rising and falling, splashing and laughing, and we see the coins beneath the surface. My 3-year old grandson turns up and asks, “Why the coins, Faw Faw?” I smile and answer, “For a wish. Throw a coin and make a wish.” He thinks and says, “Let’s do it, Grandpa.” I fish in my pocket, feel the rough rounded edge and retrieve the worn penny. “Here you go. Close your eyes, toss and make a wish.” He does and I’m happy.
An old penny is best for wishes.
“A penny for your thoughts.”
Grandpa Jim