Eight Cent Tragedies
A long time ago, in the old neighborhood I grew up in, the ice cream man’s bell rang out. On those seemingly endless hundred-degree summer days, the truck would crawl along, and kids poured out with coins in hand, eager for a cold treat.
Even with my family’s Depression-era caution, every so often my mother let me spend a nickel on some frozen treat. (Yes, I know this is one of those “tell us about the good old days, grandpa” stories, but it will happen to you too.)
The choices seemed endless: popsicles, fudgesicles, and those little paper cups of ice cream with wooden paddles. But the treat I wanted most was the vanilla ice cream wrapped in chocolate—the Eskimo Pie.
One day, I asked my mother if I could get the jumbo eight-cent version, and to my surprise, she said yes. That treat lasted only two bites. Thanks to a crooked stick, my dream dessert slipped away, melting into a puddle on the concrete. Sixty years later, I still remember that disappointment.
Years later, in high school homeroom, I overheard a girl telling her friends, “Daddy surprised me with a brand new Camaro for my 16th birthday.” Envy swept through me. Decades have passed, but every time I see one of those 70s-era Camaros, that old memory resurfaces.
We like to say disappointment and envy are just part of growing up. Truth is, those feelings stick as we get older. These days, advertising works overtime to make us unhappy with what we have.
Not long ago, I traded my three-year-old iPhone for a new model, convinced by promises of speed and sharper photos. But using it, I realize it’s not much different from the old phone.
Everywhere we turn, the world insists life won’t be complete until we have what someone else has. We see it in millionaire athletes and in social media feeds full of perfect lives. The Bible warns us not to covet, but today, that sounds as outdated as buckle shoes and powdered wigs. Coveting isn’t just ignored—it’s celebrated.
But this cycle is a trap, always chasing after more but never truly satisfied. Just a series of eight cent tragedies.
As Thanksgiving draws close, I’m reminded gratitude isn’t just a seasonal virtue—it’s the answer for a life spent longing and never finding peace. What good have I gained from letting envy or bitterness fester? What would life look like if I truly practiced gratitude for the blessings already in my hands?
Before reaching for the next best thing, maybe it’s worth asking: when was the last time longing brought real happiness? Maybe a posture of thankfulness brings deeper, lasting satisfaction than envy or the endless chase for more.
Jesus said it best in Luke 12:15: “Take heed and beware of covetousness, for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of the things he possesses.”
. . . and that’s what I know today.
