November 21, 2019
A faded envelope sat tucked inside Dad's top dresser drawer. On it, a list of dollar amounts written in his precise penmanship. More than 10 columns crossed the expanse of that pouch, each line crossed off, with the next entry either increasing or decreasing.
A childhood throwback, the envelope held chore money. Laurie had one too, and if we wanted to spend any of our hard-earned cash, we asked permission first. Mom or Dad would question if the purchase was something we honestly needed and pointed out when we longed for something frivolous, urging us to build savings for a rainy day.