If my father, lover of face jugs, were still alive, I would have bought it. I would have put it at the back of the top shelf of the linen closet, and there it would have stayed hidden behind obsolete lampshades until after Thanksgiving. I would have needed a box, of course, and some bubble wrap to keep it safe from harm from my father, the notorious and unapologetic package-shaker.
Christmas morning he would have opened it and started chortling with glee. "What in tarnation is it?" he would have asked eventually. "It's a bank," I would have said. "You hang him on the wall and stick your coins in his forehead."
My father would have hung it on the wall facing the door so that guests would have seen it the first thing when they came in. He would have given my boys coins out of his own pocket when they came over so they could put them in for him. On the days they did not, he would have put his loose change in a jar on his dresser for the next time.
And when the bank was full, he would have taken it off the wall, had them help sort out the coins on top of the coffee table and tot it up. Then he would have told them he'd been saving up to buy them an ice cream cone at Mayberry all along.
My father would have loved that bank.
One-of-a-kind bank by "Frumpy", $55 at the Associated Artists Giftshop, 301 West Fourth Street, Winston-Salem