The $1.50 Purse

Another random memory jabbed me yesterday while I stood at my kitchen sink washing dishes.

“Jabbed” may be too strong a word, but I use that word because the memory struck quickly and with no apparent trigger.  The memory is of a decent human event.

My late wife, Uyen, was a seamstress by trade.  In the last few years of her life, she made and sold crafts both online and in local craft shows.  She sold fabric origami cranes and butterflies, jewelry, kimonos she’d sewn, and an assortment of odds and ends.

I often helped Uyen set-up and work her booths at local craft shows.  At one such craft show in Helena, Uyen had for sale some small coin purses.  The purses were marked for sale at a price of $1.50.  While we were sitting at the booth, a young mother and her daughter (a girl aged no more than three) approached the table.  While the mother flicked through the colorful fabric cranes and browsed through kimonos, the little girl stood admiring the coin purses.

After spending a bit of time at Uyen’s booth, the mother and daughter melted back into the milling crowd without purchasing anything.  Ten minutes later, the pair appeared at Uyen’s booth again.  “My daughter wants to show me something she wants,” explained the mother.  “She has been saving her change.”

The little girl picked up one of the coin purses with one hand.  Obviously, she held her savings in the other hand.  The purse glittered with deep blue sequins.

“You don’t have enough money for that,” the mother said, looking down at the price.

The girl stood there, holding the purse, trying her best to process.

Uyen leaned toward the little girl.  “Let me see your money,” she said.

The little girl held forth the hand in which she clutched her money.  She slowly opened her fingers to reveal fifty-some cents.

“Hmmm,” Uyen ruminated, “I think we can make a deal.  You can have the purse for that much.”

“Are you sure?” asked the mother.

“Yes,” said Uyen.

“Give her your money,” the mother urged.

The little girl carefully transferred the change into Uyen’s palm.  “Thank you,” Uyen said, “the purse is yours.”

“Thank you so much,” the mother told Uyen.

The girl and her mother walked away with deep smiles on their faces.  As soon as they were out of view, I asked: “Why didn’t you just give her the purse?”

Uyen did not hesitate in her answer.   “Because her mother was teaching her.”

—Mitchell Hegman