To you I am just a nickel.  A silver colored coin of essentially no value.  You drop me on the ground and step on me as you walk away.  But, I have a history. 

I was minted in 1970. I spent my first year in “circulation” stored in a wall safe, rolled up with 39 other shiny new nickels. On the day we (us nickels) were finally freed from our roll and dropped into a cash till, I was plucked out by a strong hand and tossed into the air to the call of “heads.” The toss was followed by whooping applause. The kind old man who held me announced that I was his lucky nickel and gently placed me in his pocket. From then on, the man never left his home without me. When he was frightened, he would put his hand in his pocket and wrap me in his palm. When he needed to settle a matter, he would toss me in the air and call “heads” or “tails.” I never seemed to disappoint him.

When the man died years later, his son recognized me – his father’s lucky nickel. The son kept me in a box full of his father’s treasures and held me in the palm of his hand when he was in need of comfort. Then YOU stole the box and threw me to the street. Here I lay, watching people walk over me like a worthless piece of trash.

But wait, what’s this? A young girl is looking at me. She gently picks me up and says “oh, a lucky nickel!”