There was a time when paying meant using paper money and a little patience.
I can still picture reaching for bills, sorting coins, and feeling a small, private pride as the cashier and the line watched me count it out. It made the moment feel deliberate and, oddly, important.
It was not about showing off. It was a tiny ritual that forced everyone to pause, to take a breath, and to remember that money and time were connected in ways a tap cannot show.
Today’s speed is convenient and often necessary.
Still, I miss those little lessons about value and presence that only came with waiting and doing things by hand.
I am not asking for more hassle. I just like remembering the quiet dignity of taking the time to finish what you owe, properly and fully.
A single dollar bill held so much power. You walked into that theater feeling like a millionaire.
Popcorn, soda, and a movie for the whole afternoon.
There was even enough left for the bus ride home.
Those Saturdays felt like they lasted forever.
I can still smell the buttery popcorn now.
IN GOD WE STILL TRUST
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Unless there was a bus line somewhere else in Odessa, only the last town (Houston) that I lived in had any bus line. Since all of those five West Texas/East New Mexico towns were smaller than 5,000 residents — you could walk across town in a half hour. Furthermore, when I moved to Houston during my last two years before college, the high school was eight blocks away and my church was one block away. Additionally, I was on the long-distance running team from the end of junior high.
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