Hey Dad! Why do people collect coins? And sell them for more than their face value?

You know, your question reminds me of this time when I was five years old. We were on a family trip to the Ozarks. We were in the old station wagon: me, my mom, my dad, and my older brother.�

This was the most frightening experience of my life.�

See, my brother had convinced me that The Ozarks were a race of giants who lived in the middle-ish United States, and who would totally have eaten all the non-giant people by now if it had not been for Abraham Lincoln establishing the Ozarkian Peace Treaty.�

“What’s the Oz-ark E-I-E-I-O...Treat?” I asked.�

“The Ozarkian Peace Treaty.” My brother said.�

Mom and Dad were too busy up in front in the car to be paying any attention to us, listening, as they were, to some on-the-radio game show with cat-like intensity.�

“The Ozarkian Peace Treaty started the sad tradition in which we’re now taking part,” my Brother continued.� “See, every year, they demand five non-giant children to eat during what they call their August Yum Yum.”

“Their August Yum Yum?!” I asked, my mouth agape.�

“Yep, their August Yum Yum,” My brother said.

�“There’s this fancy lottery thing they do. Each year, every very family in America has to draw a card out of a huge pot. The families that draw a card with a sad face drawn on it have to drive to the Ozarks and give their youngest child to the giants.”

�He was looking at me somberly as he said this. He didn’t blink.�

“Sorry bud.” He said.�

“DAD!” I yelled. “Are the OZARKS GOING TO EAT ME?”�

“Uh, yeah, sure Son.” My dad answered, clearly not hearing what I said as he tapped his half-spent cigarette against the side view mirror.�

So, as you can imagine, I was scared out of my mind the closer we got to the Ozarks. I mean, just say that word out loud, “OZARKS.” How in the world can that mean anything else than “child-eating giants”?�

Imagine my relief then, when we arrived at a nice hotel and spent the week hiking� mountains and swimming. I was just so grateful to be alive.�

You might wonder why your question about collecting coins and valuation and all, why that triggered that memory.�

Well see, when we were on that trip to the Ozarks, that was the first time I saw one of those machines that takes your penny and claims to press it into another shape as you turn the crank. All you have to do is put a penny into it, then put two quarters into it, and turn away, and you’ve got yourself something that not only looks funny, but also no longer can buy you a penny candy. And, for some reason, I WANTED to spend my quarters to get myself a molded penny.�

Some might say that collecting coins is like that. Except that instead of a fancy machine with cranks and gears and such, it’s culture and brains. You put a certain penny in, and culture and brains make it something worth paying two quarters--or two-hundred-thousand dollars--for it.

Me, though, I have no idea. Just being honest. I have no idea.�

All I know is the Ozarks are going to get us all someday.�