Posted 09/21/2012 10:13 am
I don't have a picture, however, I have a lovely mid-grade (it's one of those coins for which I wish there was a grade between AU and XF) 1908 IHC that I picked out of my cash drawer. There is a story here . . .
. . . when I was six years old, my sister--who is half Native American--received an 1878 (100 years before her birth) IHC for Christmas. I don't remember much about it, but I do remember it seeming very shiny for such an old coin, so I'm guessing it may have been a slabbed item. I was super-jealous of my sister's cool-looking coin (which she got in a refrigerator box--I think I was even more jealous that she got to unwrap like twenty boxes to find it), and for my eighth birthday, one of my cousins gave me a 1908 IHC, "eight because you're eight" (I'm guessing an 1888 wasn't available).
It sat on my dresser for three weeks, having survived the obligatory trip to school to show off.
Then our house was broken into.
We lost several hundred dollars' worth of CDs, VHS (this was back before DVDs were a thing), Super Nintendo games, most of my mother's vinyl record collection . . . and my entire collection of cassette tapes (this was also back before mp3s, or even MIDI files, were a thing).
Which had been sitting right next to my IHC. My suddenly-missing IHC.
Lots of tears and rage commenced, and for well over ten years I refused to collect coins even though I was fascinated whenever my mom's collection came out of a drawer. I couldn't imagine why anyone would want to take someone else's nice things, and I'd lost mine so completely and so suddenly that the idea of trying to "replace" them was totally not happening. Some well-meaning relative tried to replace my favourite cassette, and I flat-out trashed the replacement in rage because the brand-new case told me very well it wasn't actually mine (that cassette also had a sentimental story attached).
And then I started working at Circle K.
And one day I opened a roll of pennies, and my mouth fell open as a 1908 IHC--my 1908 IHC--spilled out.
I don't know that it's the same one, obviously--and never will. Barring a super-distinctive mark, which the one I received as a child did not have, there's no way to know. But the level of wear is similar, and in my heart I believe that my very first coin found its way back to me, sixteen years later and an entire continent away. Part of that is just romanticism, but part is the feeling of awe and wholeness I felt when I pulled it out of the drawer and felt a whole world open up in my hand--the world that led me to this forum, and discussions of acetone and toning, and the day-making grin when a coin from the teens or an unexpected piece of silver suddenly pops up. No other coin--not my mom's Mercs or California gold piece, not the Chinese coin gifted to me by my grampa, not my uncle's set of buffalo nickels--ever made me want to collect again. This did.
My coin came home. I hope your silver will do the same, Jaymon.
*mods, did you know this combination sets off the bad-word filter even from within a word like this?
. . . when I was six years old, my sister--who is half Native American--received an 1878 (100 years before her birth) IHC for Christmas. I don't remember much about it, but I do remember it seeming very shiny for such an old coin, so I'm guessing it may have been a slabbed item. I was super-jealous of my sister's cool-looking coin (which she got in a refrigerator box--I think I was even more jealous that she got to unwrap like twenty boxes to find it), and for my eighth birthday, one of my cousins gave me a 1908 IHC, "eight because you're eight" (I'm guessing an 1888 wasn't available).
It sat on my dresser for three weeks, having survived the obligatory trip to school to show off.
Then our house was broken into.
We lost several hundred dollars' worth of CDs, VHS (this was back before DVDs were a thing), Super Nintendo games, most of my mother's vinyl record collection . . . and my entire collection of cassette tapes (this was also back before mp3s, or even MIDI files, were a thing).
Which had been sitting right next to my IHC. My suddenly-missing IHC.
Lots of tears and rage commenced, and for well over ten years I refused to collect coins even though I was fascinated whenever my mom's collection came out of a drawer. I couldn't imagine why anyone would want to take someone else's nice things, and I'd lost mine so completely and so suddenly that the idea of trying to "replace" them was totally not happening. Some well-meaning relative tried to replace my favourite cassette, and I flat-out trashed the replacement in rage because the brand-new case told me very well it wasn't actually mine (that cassette also had a sentimental story attached).
And then I started working at Circle K.
And one day I opened a roll of pennies, and my mouth fell open as a 1908 IHC--my 1908 IHC--spilled out.
I don't know that it's the same one, obviously--and never will. Barring a super-distinctive mark, which the one I received as a child did not have, there's no way to know. But the level of wear is similar, and in my heart I believe that my very first coin found its way back to me, sixteen years later and an entire continent away. Part of that is just romanticism, but part is the feeling of awe and wholeness I felt when I pulled it out of the drawer and felt a whole world open up in my hand--the world that led me to this forum, and discussions of acetone and toning, and the day-making grin when a coin from the teens or an unexpected piece of silver suddenly pops up. No other coin--not my mom's Mercs or California gold piece, not the Chinese coin gifted to me by my grampa, not my uncle's set of buffalo nickels--ever made me want to collect again. This did.
My coin came home. I hope your silver will do the same, Jaymon.
*mods, did you know this combination sets off the bad-word filter even from within a word like this?
Edited by ninamason
09/21/2012 10:15 am
09/21/2012 10:15 am
