I'm grown up. I really am mature, educated, worldly, but hardly sophisticated -- which has little to do with getting older anyway. As former adjunct faculty at a local college, I've still an education image; season seats to the Philharmonic attest to my appreciation of classical music; subscription tickets to the touring Broadway productions continue my admiration of the arts. Well, in order for you to chuckle at a recent, figurative slip-on-banana-peel, I've got to give you a glimpse into some childhood events.

I stood in the dinette facing my older sister. While she played with the ridges around her ten-cent coin, I insisted she couldn't have TWO of my nickels for just ONE of her dimes; two is more than one no matter what she said.

My father attempted to explain that a dime was equal to two nickels. I didn't believe him. My smooth-edged circles were larger and had more designs on them. No one could fool me; I was six and smart.

Screaming and calling me stupid, my nine-year-old sister assured me there was no trick to the transaction. I stubbornly stated that if they were the same, then I'd keep my two and she could keep her one.

I knew I could outshout, outstare, out-anything anyone. Stubborn was good. Grandpa tried to give me a funny coin once to save. It said "Union Forever" and he called it a Civil War token. I told him to give it to my sister 'cause it wasn't real money. See -- I was smart.

Oh. And I remember Grandma trying to test me when she dropped a huge, heavy thing on my dresser. She called it a silver dollar. Who was she fooling? Dollars are made out of paper!

I learned about money in school. First, “money” was oxen and cows since everyone needed something to pull a plow, give milk, haul a cart, be skinned for shoes and clothes. Then, the teacher said, since animals were too big to carry around money had to be easy to carry and not spoil. So, small metal chips got stamped with something to show where they were made -- yeah, art stuff. Good so far?

Well, a zillion years ago in 1652, in Boston, Massachusetts, pictures of trees were put on our money and a man named John Hull gave his daughter her weight in coins as a wedding gift. Really! She got ten thousand Pine Tree shillings, but I couldn't remember what a shilling meant so I didn't know if she had been fat or skinny.

My metal bank had a coin slot that fit only pennies. Pennies were nice. I liked the color. When the bank filled, I sorted my cents and tried to have one Lincoln dated year by year. I hoped no one dropped those old Indian pennies in my bank -- I only wanted Lincoln. He was a president of the United States. I learned that in school, also. I only kept the shiny Lincolns if more than one had the same date.

Bet you didn't think when I was a little kid that I knew names of presidents or how to read coin numbers. Mommy had told me about mint marks but I couldn't imagine how mint leaves we put in tea could mark my pennies.

Lincoln pennies spelled out “one cent” on the back. That sure was sensible. My Jefferson nickel had his house on the “tails” side when I flipped a coin. How could anyone from another country know that coin was a nickel when it didn't say so in big print! I was never going to save those.

And Lincoln was in pictures all over school, well, wherever Washington wasn't.

A while ago, photographic masterpieces were displayed the International Museum of Photography. During the showing, I paid my admission, entered the museum, with all the poise and intelligent awareness acquired with aging, I moved through the exhibit's area and stared at original photos.

I stood in awe at "The Migrant Mother" as the print was familiar -- but seeing the original was stirring. Famous names like Daugerre, Man Ray, Bruehl, made me search my learnings for each technique that separated them as artists. A picture of former movie actress Marlene Dietrich bothered me -- I didn't like her eyebrows or the position of her hand. I decided that the artist, however, intended to do something to cause a viewer to both remember her and his craft. I walked quietly taking in these treasures with fascination.

But when I got to a photograph of Lincoln, I forgot I was in a place of silence, as museums always are. Quite loud and with a girlish giggle, I exclaimed, "He looks just like the penny!"