The Wooden Nickel: The Tapestry of Eternal Wisdom & Life’s Lessons
In the rich landscape of life’s journey, advice flows like a river, sometimes a gentle stream, sometimes a thundering cascade. But the accurate measure of wisdom lies not in its delivery but in its lasting resonance. This story is a testament to a mother’s intuitive guidance, wrapped in metaphors that would echo through decades of my life.
My mother, when I was a teenager, used to stand on our front porch on a Sunday evening as I was backing our 1955 Ford Fairlane out of the lean-to, headed to pick up my movie date. She would lean over the porch rail and say, “Tommy Joe, don’t take any wooden nickels”
I would stick my hand out the window, wave goodbye, and yell back to her as I drove away, “I won’t, Mom!” What wonderful memories I have of her in my childhood. I never understood the “wooden nickel” advice, but somehow, I knew I would never accept one. I didn’t know what one looked like, but I would recognize it immediately if I saw one, or so I thought.
Like many teenagers, Young Tommy Joe heard the advice but didn’t fully comprehend its nuanced meaning. The “wooden nickel” became a cryptic symbol—a warning against deception, against accepting something that appears valuable but lacks genuine substance.
She did not want me to get deeply involved with someone whose sole mission was to get married and leave home.
High school romance bloomed swiftly and passionately. The pretty girl who captured my heart seemed perfect, a dream realized. We married young and started a family, and for years, the wooden nickel remained hidden, its true nature camouflaged by the veneer of domestic normalcy.
Thirty-two years into the marriage, reality struck. The wooden nickel—that metaphorical token of misplaced trust—revealed its true, hollow nature. The carefully constructed life began to fracture, forcing a painful but necessary confrontation with the truth.
My mother’s long-ago warning proved prophetic in a bittersweet twist of fate. The wooden nickel, carried silently for decades, finally lost its deceptive shine. Letting go became an act of liberation, honoring both my mother’s wisdom and my journey of self-discovery.
This story is more than a personal narrative—it’s a universal parable about listening, understanding, and the sometimes-circuitous path to wisdom. Sometimes, the advice we dismiss in youth becomes the very beacon that guides us in later years.
I left that “Wooden Nickel” sitting in its favorite chair and never looked back. My mother is probably looking down from Heaven as I read this story of woe and saying, “Tommy Joe, you should have listened to me.” Yeah, Mom, you were right about a lot of things. I should have paid closer attention, I admit, my head hung low in submission to her wisdom.
