They called me second hand Rose

When I was growing up my father owned and operated a pawn shop. It was a real study in human nature just hanging out and watching my dad at work. I guess I knew I had a bleeding heart early on in life and it really came out when I would listen to people tell their sad stories to my dad while trying to get the biggest loan possible for their nickel plated Nazi helmet or genuine Japanese suicide sword. They would tell my father, while choking back tears, how they had to purchase milk for the baby or buy Grandpa’s heart medication. By the time they finished telling their story I was ready to empty the register and take them home for one of mom’s hot cooked meals. I knew better than to say a word when my dad was taking care of a customer but he knew always knew when I was getting emotionally involved in a real life soap opera. As soon as the business transaction was completed and the customer walked to the front of the store my dad would tell me to step out front and watch to see for myself where the customer went next. I’d go to the door and nonchalantly stroll outside just in time to see them walk straight into the liquor store next door, so much for Grandpa’s heart or that hungry baby. Unless the booze was for medicinal purposes and the baby was off the wagon. The other thing I remember most about Pa Pa’s business was that no matter what I requested as a Christmas gift he would predictably respond, “Be patient, I’m sure someone will pawn one some day”. If we weren’t waiting for something to come out of pawn we would receive a “slightly” used watch or some other antique relic. Dad always said , “There is no such thing as a used diamond”. What worried me was that I’d be strolling down the street, sporting my new jewelry, and get accosted by the previous owner.