Pearl Harbor started it all, years ago. The smashed penny version of Pearl Harbor, that is. That one is what started what has become my smashed penny collection, mementos of the many corners of the world I have visited.
I have this hazy vague memory of finding that first smashed penny on my grandparents' kitchen table, mixed in with the random assortment of knick-knacks, Saltine crackers, jars of peanut butter and papers that usually got shuffled around their kitchen table. They had visited Pearl Harbor in the late 70s, a pit stop along the way to New Zealand and Australia. Little did they know their decision to pop a few coins into a machine all those years ago would launch their granddaughter's love of hunting down and collecting these pocket-sized souvenirs. Maybe it's a weird collection to some. I've definitely gotten a few confused looks from folks when I tell them I collect smashed pennies. Some people have no idea what they are, let alone why anyone would bother collecting them. It usually makes me sound like a complete nerd, but you know, whatever.
My current collection hovers somewhere north of 120 (maybe 130 by now?) pennies. Some are different designs from the same location, so that doesn't mean they represent 120 distinct locations, but they do represent a fairly wide variety of places I have visited. I don't mind if other people bring me coins from their own travels, but generally speaking, I try only to collect coins from places I have personally been to.
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| Part of my international collection - Auckland and Moscow |
with a handful of other college students. At the end of the trip, we bummed around Moscow for a few extra days. We traipsed around Red Square and squeezed ourselves through the closing doors of a few metros and a whole lot of places in between. As much as I was enjoying Moscow, I was eager to get out of the country. It had been a long, hard summer - and I wasn't too keen on sticking around much longer. But there we were in St. Basil's Cathedral, climbing stair step after stair step. My roommate that summer, Tiffany, comes around the corner, proudly announcing she had found a smashed penny machine. Clarification: smashed ruble machine, in this instance. I didn't even know they had these machines in other countries, as I just assumed it was an American thing. It was probably a seemingly insignificant find to the rest of the world, but I was delighted to find one of these machines stashed up in the stairwell of this centuries-old cathedral.
The collection has continued to grow since that first one my grandparents brought back from Pearl Harbor - New Zealand, Jackson Hole, Alaska, Florida, random little towns scattered across Ohio - they have all been added. I'm sure many more will be added, reminders of the adventures and the memories. Fifty cents and a smashed penny later is a small price to pay to hold the memories close, to mark the moments that have shaped my life. (And don't worry, there's an app for that.)
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| Yes, I'm nerdy enough to have them all enclosed in specially- made display booklets. |
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