Get That Nickel, Player

This morning I was in my truck with my son. His eyebrows shot up. “Hey!” He held up a dirty nickel, retrieved from the floorboard. “Can I put this in my bank when we get home?”

“Of course,” I said.

A few blocks later we stopped at a red light. He turned to me and said, with all possible gravitas, “You and me are pretty lucky.”

“We are,” I said. “But tell me exactly why you think that you and me are lucky.”

He was very solemn. He held up the nickel. “We’ve got wieners and money.”