When I was but a sweet lad of six or seven, an idea entered my head that led to some pretty severe consequences. I plopped a quarter into a gallon of milk. I only wish I had insight into my child’s mind as to why I thought this was a good idea. Perhaps I thought to thank the milk for its creamy deliciousness with a tip (which at $2.28 a gallon in 1987 was a generous 11% gratuity). Another option was the thought that if milk made me grow, perhaps milk would turn make 25¢ grow into 50¢– Cramer would be so proud. Maybe I was just trying to clean the quarter.
My mother saw me drop the quarter into the gallon of milk. As a family, I believe we drank approximately 2.5 gallons of milk per day in 1987. That and boatloads of lentil soup. I can understand my mother’s reaction. Immediately, she reprimanded me. Harshly. I believe my father later gave me a overhead-projector based lecture about the dangers of putting currency in community and individual beverage containers. My mother desperately wanted to know why I had done this and destroyed this gallon of milk for the rest of the family, and why I had tossed a perfectly good quarter away. I was probably wondering the same thing, as there is no good reason.
I do clearly remember one thing. My punishment. My mother did not simply throw the gallon away and tell me to never do this again. No. That would be dismissing my actions– teaching me there were no consequences in this world. Instead, that gallon of milk became my personal gallon of milk. I was to drink and use no other gallon but the Quarter Gallon until it was gone. No one was to touch my Quarter Gallon. I had to drink the entire gallon by myself until the quarter came out. I was deathly afraid I would accidently drink the quarter, choke and die. Sometimes I wonder how close she was to making me chug the whole Quarter Gallon right then and there.
