An Old Passbook and Good Parenting

My father opened a savings account when I was 5. He put a rough equivalent of 100$ to a passbook which proudly had my name in it. The terms were a bit odd - I was able to deposit more money at any time, but the first withdrawal couldn't be made in 3 years. Although I had already realized money could be exchanged for goods (services were not so popular in socialist country like mine), depositing spare change, weekly allowance or money I was given at any convenient occasion became a popular game to me.

In 3 years, I saved enough money to buy myself a modest bicycle. And there was a blue one I liked very, very much. But the idea of discontinuing 3-year efforts was terrifying. The time slot for money withdrawal was exactly one day. I remember it was a Friday and I took my passbook, heading for the bank branch, only 300 meters away. It took me an eternity to walk that distance. I entered the bank, came to the teller but I was squeezing the red passbook in my hand. Then I started to sweat profusely and I just ran out like hell.

I kept the account intact in terms of withdrawal for 5 more years. The inflation was a bit faster than deposits and interest rate and I was 13 when I closed the account. I can't remember what I bought for that money. What I do know is how my father taught me a lesson of my life - lesson of patience. Patience is underrated today. Yet, with patience and a grain of common sense, one can have almost everything.

Thanks, dad!