The first owner lived in Uruguay. As a little boy, he collected shiny coins. He could use them to buy things, and they looked pretty. Eventually, he realised that some of them were different; they would be worth the same monetary value, but would have different images pressed into them. He kept these special coins, and put them in an empty pickle jar.

As time went by, the boy’s collection grew. Vacations to different countries gave him new coins to keep, that would let him remember his childhood. He always kept an eye out for anything special. The pickle jar started to fill up.

Eventually, the boy became a man. He found a wife in Canada and had two children. Canada’s coins were a memento of this time. He and his wife split up. Soon after, they moved to Israel, where he found another and had a third child. The man saw his eldest, also a boy, eyeing his collection. The boy was given the pickle jar, under one condition; never lose the coins, and always add more. This was the second owner.

When the boy was older, they moved to Argentina. The israeli coins reminded him of his old home and his old friends when he got sad. New ones were always added to the collection. Sometimes his sisters would find some for him, but the collection was his. The jar now contained dozens of coins.

When the boy was a young adult, he moved to his country of birth with the older sister, while his half-sister stayed in Israel. The two older siblings lived in an apartment together, until they found others. After some time, their father moved to Canada. The young man kept looking for coins.

The young man eventually found something more valuable than the rarest of coins; a wife. They lived in an apartment for several months. When she gave birth to his son, he bought a small house to live in. And of course, he kept more coins. He had several hundred by then.

Two years later, the man had a second son. He loved both his children so much. Loose change celebrated these special years.

Three years later, a daughter came into the family. Their house was too small for five people, so they moved. A nice house in a nice neighborhood. A pre-k right down the block. It was perfect. Another couple coins made perfect mementos.

Over the years, the eldest child had kept his own special coins. One day, he found his father’s collection. A large pickle jar, half-filled with coins from all over the world. It was amazing. He took out the coins and sorted them. He put them in plastic bags, according to their country. Hours spent caring for these little pieces of metal.

The father saw what his son was doing, and remembered being given that jar. When the little boy asked for the jar, he gave it without hesitation. His little boy would take excellent care of his memories. This was the third owner.

The little boy added his coins to the collection. Every few weeks he would find another. Every few months he would take them all out and resort them, just to awe at what he owned. There were nearly a thousand of them, each one having a little story to tell.

The boy went to Argentina and Israel on vacation. He saw where his father had lived, and thought of his coins. Those coins had been there. Those coins saw his grandfather’s life, his marriages and divorces. They saw his father’s life and his aunts. They were there when he moved to Canada and found a wife. They were there when the boy was born and witnessed his entire life. Those little pieces of metal, worth a few cents or dollars each, contained invaluable memories. They were the accumulated lives of three generations.