Piggy of the Past

Title: The Piggy Bank and the Taffeta Scarf

There’s a piggy bank on my dresser - worn, a little dusty, with a gaping hole, its color faded from time and handling. It once belonged to my parents, who were just starting their life together. My dad was in the Air Force then. They didn’t have much. Young, broke, and in love—that’s how I picture them.

I don’t know the whole story behind the piggy bank. No one ever sat me down and told me where it came from or exactly what they were saving for. But I know it meant something. I know it lived in a small residence, probably on a dresser or a kitchen counter, quietly filling up with coins as two newlyweds scraped together what they could.

At some point, something happened. Maybe an emergency. Maybe a dream they were finally able to fund. But they broke the piggy bank. I imagine the sound it made—a sharp crack, probably with a hammer - and the careful collection of coins spilling out, counted and used for something that mattered.

When my mother passed, I received the piggy bank which had a small scarf tucked inside, as if the two had always belonged together. It was in her cedar chest, nestled among wedding photos, letters, and . The scarf was wrapped around it, . I don’t know why. There’s no note, no context, no explanation. Maybe it was what she wore the night they decided to spend the savings. Maybe it was just nearby when she packed it away. But I’ve never separated them.

Now they sit together in my home: the broken piggy bank and the delicate scarf, both survivors of a time I can only try to piece together. They are quiet heirlooms - no grand story, no obvious value - but they say more than most things I own. They remind me that even when you don’t have much, you still have hope. Can still build. And that love, in its simplest form, often shows up as small things kept close, long after their purpose has passed.

I’ll never know exactly what that money went toward. But I like to think it was something meaningful. Something that mattered enough to crack open what they’d been building, one coin at a time.