The first time I remember the magic quarter trick, I think I had been about four or five years old, but I am certain prior to my memories kicking in, My Grandpa Buncher, had played this simple game, early on. It is the magical give me your ear and wham bam, thank you ma’am a quarter appeared and gosh almighty, how the heck did that happen. My Grandpa Buncher would smile, his grin as wide as his face and almost as large as his ears (The Buncher men, in particular, were prone to grow long large ears, especially as they aged). My Buncher Grandparents, home was not a cozy Grandma/Grandpa habitat at all. There was the plastic on the furniture, so stiff as to first cause third-degree burns on any unclothed body part which might have managed to slide on or off the furniture too swiftly, and tables next to the furniture which held priceless knickknack’s made of some very expensive glass. Instructions at the doorway, prior to entering the Buncher Grandparent’s home from my mother in particular were, try to plop down, so nothing hurts, and NEVER, EVER touch anything on the tables, no matter what! It was not hell (as I assumed hell must have been back in my early days, but it was torturous. My Grandma Buncher (actually born in Pittsburgh PA), was loving, but stern. Her special treat was taking a seltzer bottle, asking us which of two flavors, (root beer, or orange) we liked, and she mixed this elixir into what we in Pittsburgh called “pop”, in the real world it is referred to as soda!
As we grew older, the quarter trick grew old, and both my sister and I were instructed to pretend it was magic, and we did the best we could not to give one another that certain sibling looks, to make sure WE both knew this was ridiculous. My Grandpa Buncher was not one to be fooled. He had opened a Tailor Shop in a neighborhood in Pittsburgh at the time which did not prefer Jewish residents, it was called Shadyside. MY Grandpa Buncher was a talented man, and a stubborn guy and he would recant stories of leaving his homeland Ukraine, due to the complete absence of freedom and equality back in the day.
For my Grandpa Buncher, coming to America was not just the quest for his personal freedom, but for his future generations. (Of course coming from a Jewish Family, I was the only Grandson keeping the Buncher name alive, so not only was I king, but I was the result of the pain and suffering for my Grandfather to make it to America. Finally, my younger sister and I reached the age, when even my Grandfather understood, that the quarter trick was lame. So, perhaps at age 7, a new tradition began. As we would leave the house, my sister would kiss my grandparent's goodbye, and my grandfather would give her a silver dollar. I would kiss him goodbye (which he informed me a handshake would take place once I turned 13), and he said place out your hands. I would obey and he would place a quarter in one hand and a silver dollar in another. He told me, the quarter is small, but it will remind you where you came from, the silver dollar is larger and worth more, it will lead you to your future. As we would leave the house my Grandpa Buncher would add, we all must begin somewhere and use that tiny sliver of long ago to lead us to tomorrow.
How I wish, the children in Concentration Camp, the children who have witnessed their parents ripped from their arms, the children placed in adoption even though their biological parents are still alive, the children of Flint whose government let them down because they were poor or black, the children in West Virginia/Kentucky whose rivers are fouled by coal ash, and ho the Trump children from Barron to Donald Junior, could have met MY Grandpa Buncher, and learned a way of life and the truth about living.
