I’ve been on this planet for 48 years, and in that time I have collected a list of moments of which I am humbled, proud, and grateful. At the top of that list, without comparison, is the time eight cents changed my life.
In 2016, at the age of 41, I decided to take up the ukulele. I have always loved the vibe of this instrument. It’s a happy sound. It’s also uncomplicated, unpretentious, most chords are easy to learn, and you can buy one for less than $100. This was perfect for me, because I’ve only ever wanted to play an instrument well enough to accompany myself singing. I bought a decent beginner concert sized uke, a couple of instruction books, and found a simple song or two that I could learn via chord boxes (diagrams of the fretboard that show where your fingers go to make a chord) because I cannot read music.
Armed with a goal to sing and play, I began practicing all the time. I lived in an apartment in Sacramento with neighbors below me and on both sides, so I was always self conscious of playing the same song over, and over, and over—then over some more. Luckily, the ukulele is very portable, so on the weekends I would grab my gig bag and music, and head to a local park. Leaned up against a tree, I’d practice my chord shapes, strumming techniques, and, once I felt comfortable enough, vocals. I felt free to mess up, to repeat songs in perpetuity, and belt out the vocals because in the park nobody could hear me. Or so I thought.
One Sunday, I noticed some kids playing soccer about 30 yards away when I arrived at my tree, but I assumed they were out of earshot and quickly forgot about their presence. I thought for sure my own presence had never really registered with them, but began to notice one little boy, probably around 7 years old, taking his time, methodically and gently doing his footwork, moving closer and closer to me. When he was within 10 feet, I smiled and he smiled back, now barely kicking the ball and mostly just wandering around my perimeter. I kept playing, though a bit more reserved—I don’t care if you’re a kid or the President, when I sing in front of you I am nervous.
This kid must have sensed it, because he walked tentatively up to me, held out his hand, and said, “I like your playing. I don’t have much, but here.” I then reached out my hand, more curious than anything, and into it, he placed a nickel and three pennies. Eight cents. My first tip. It may as well have been a million bucks.
Don’t underestimate how much a small gesture can impact someone’s day, or even their entire life. Eight years since I got that handful of change. I will never forget that little boy or his gesture. That change changed me, forever.
Sara Middleton is a freelance columnist and resident artist/owner of Studio Sol Gallery & Creative Space in Eagle Grove, Iowa. Email her at sara.studiosol@gmail.com or find Studio Sol on Facebook or Instagram.
