My father had a thing for threes. He would always give 3 kisses – one on each cheek, one on the lips. As I got older it was one on each cheek and one on the tip of my nose and then one on each cheek and one on the forehead. And he always expected 3 kisses in return.
My father always said if he won a million dollars he would have it changed into pennies and then just sit in those pennies and toss them around. Then he would laugh.
Years after he died I would often find 3 pennies, always face up, in the oddest places, at the oddest times. One morning I was waiting for the bus, I was late for work. I was hopping on and off the curb, looking at my watch, craning my neck to see down the street. Where was the damn bus? Then I looked down and there were 3 pennies, arranged in a triangle, heads up. I laughed – it was Daddy.
If I dreamt of him, the next morning I would find pennies. It was never one penny, or two, or four. Always 3, always heads up – altogether, or just one step apart. I could be walking down the street, glance down, see a penny, pick it up. Take another step and there would be another penny, another step, another penny. I’d think “Daddy, you are playing with me” and I could almost hear him laughing.
Always pennies. Always 3. Pennies for kisses…