Ben Franklins Five and Dime was the only place we had to shop when we were younger. Doors opened to jubilant faces as we imagined all the goodies inside. I can still remember the smell of peppermint and caramel from the big plastic jars on the counter and the smell of cheap plastic toys that lined the shelves right at kids eye level.
Poor Mom. Worry lined her face as she tried to find something we could afford to have. Every month the same choices for five country children. Look a lot and buy a little. I loved that store. The dinging door, the smells the warmth. The woman behind the counter who made over our 10 cent purchase like it was going to be the most fun thing any kid ever owned.
We called it the dime store. But the memories it gave me are priceless.
2 thoughts on “The Dime Store”
Yes, growing up poor can actually create great memories. Good job. 🙂
Such a clear sense of excitement at dreaming of possible purchases: this is beautiful 🙂