AUTOBIOGRAPHY

When I was in the age of four, the parents of mine got the idea to teach me how to spare money. On this purpose, the father of mine has bought a brand new spear pig made of ceramics, with just one single slot on the back to receive the coins. The pig was covered with shiny blue paint, which gave here the additional visible aureole around the circumference line. The father was excited explaining me about the functionality of the spear pig, how is she beautiful, and how is she shiny, and how to put the coins within, and what to do when there is no place to receive any additional coin, braking the pig and buying whatsoever for a lot of money, and I’ve followed him surprised by his interest about toys, because I was already aware of the matter of fact that the adults don’t have any interest in toys like the children do. I’ve seen the spare pig just like toy, although the father of mine explained to me that it is not for playing with. I was fascinated with the shiny blue coloured spare pig, even more because the father of mine, who was seldom at home, pays extraordinary attention to her.

 

Since the spare pig was very special, the place for it was at high-located shelf, to avoid to fell down and to brake before the time arrived. Along the time, I’ve asked the mother of mine, who was at home, having no work, to take the spare pig down, so I could watch it closely. She has remembered me that it is not the toy, but I’ve explained to here that I just want to watch it, and to touch it only with the top of one finger, very carefully, so she’s agreed.

 

I’ve spent half of our daily but not everyday, to watch shiny blue ceramic spare pig carefully, admiring here, enjoying in here shape. After the time, since the spare pig was full with coins, the time arrived to break here with the hammer, to count the money spared, and to think what could we buy for it. The father has excited explained to me, in details what is going to be, and I love it, because his wording was enthusiastic, so I’ve enjoyed in nice emotions, paying less attention to the intellectual content.

 

Then it has happened. My nice shiny blue spare pig hit by the hammer placed in hand of father of mine, has been destroyed in many pieces. The petty cash has scattered over the surface of the table, mixed with pieces of pottery, and I’ve started to inconsolably cry.

 

Nothing has helped to stop me crying, cause I’ve really loved the piggy bank. The father tried to explain to me that we could by three such the pigs for this cache we’ve spared together, but I’ve answered to him crying that we could never buy this piggy again, not for all cache on the world. The father hasn’t understood how am I related to the piggy bank, so it remained like that all the life long. One of consequences of this event is that I couldn’t spare the money. I’ve tried to spare some cache on some purpose along the life, but never to collect some treasury. The money remained for me like the energy, or water, which must flow in order to be clean, to be valuable, or it has to be spent, thus to be invested, in order to transform its virtual value into some real value.  The piggy I love still. She is still shining in my memories.