I would ask you to take a walk with me into my closet, but being more of a shackled down storage space, I’ll just ask you to imagine what it would look like. Clutter seems to rule almost the entire districts of the drawers, and the skyscrapers of pants, and the cities of shirts tossed onto hangers. However, one district, a small white drawer, having the looks of a sideways middle-school locker, has somehow managed to remain organized and simple. This would be my “secret stash of priceless possessions,” as I like to call it. Maybe the power of the smell, or the beautiful shells detailing this particular off-white, locker-sized drawer, keeps the evilness of clutter away. My sand dollar collection seems to reign sovereign over that drawer. All five, shining in their own magnificence, have managed to remain in the same place for almost a decade, strewn about, in the same clumsy manner that looks nothing but perfectly placed. Maybe that’s the way we found them on the beach. Nesting animals no longer, the dark pinholes, or madreporites in the center of each shell, seem to be now filled with the rich smell of tides rolling in and rolling out over the fine grains of golden sand, even after all this time of nearly unbreathable exposure to my sock drawer directly above it. Maybe inventors derived the design of frisbees from this disc shaped shell, although to throw this momento around seems like a crime, for one would be disrupting their star-like beauty. I almost don’t even want to pick them up for a closer glance because the shells look so happy, if that makes sense. The off white colors seems to somehow fade into the drawer bottom beneath the shells, but the toasted, sun crisped edges of a star in the center make them Smith, vibrantly visible. The quartz, green, and lead-colored rocks around the opposite side of the drawer may try to steal your attention with color display, but the plain white sand dollars always seem to draw more attention. They carry quite an appropriate name, if I do say so myself. Furthermore, two of them measure about three inches in diameter, and the rest are about an inch shorter. The shorter ones are my personal favorites. My grandma, being a smaller women herself, never hesitated to remind me of the important proverb, “good things come in small packages.” I guess that would be just one of the many things my grandma has taught me in my lifetime.

Out of all the memories of painting, drawing, and tattooing the sand dollars, I am reminded most of the times when my grandma and I would walk for hours on the beach, holding hands, and only letting go when we came upon a sand dollar we wanted to pick up. There aren’t too many sand dollars left on Solana Beach in San Diego; maybe we stole them all. It makes me sad that I may be taking away the “collecting” experience from so many other people, but at least collecting the sand dollars meant so much to me. Anyways, the walks we spent together were long and meaningful, but more importantly, made me want to grow up to be just like my grandma.

My grandma is a woman who hasn’t, and will never give into society’s norms for how an eighty-five-year-old is “supposed to act.” She starts her daily routine off with several exercise classes, then swims a mile in the pool, bikes a few more miles, and walks even more miles on the beach. Sadly, she does not have a husband any longer. This just highlights how independent she continues to be, even when she has lost the person she depended on most.

National Geographic Magazine may have seen a glimpse at her radiance and uniqueness when they featured her in an article on graceful aging. But for me, she means much more than an athlete, or motivated women; she is the one who, stride by stride, pushes me in the right direction. Those memories will always remain locked inside the little pinholes of my lovely little stash of stars.
Moreover, when I rub my fingers around the smooth, rounded edges of the sand dollars, I can feel the bouts of procrastination my grandma has helped me eliminate. I am sad to say that even my hyperactive, jumpy grandmother can sit down and get work done better than I can. That’s why the sand dollars are so priceless. They remind me that I am supposed to heed my grandma’s effort to make me the man whom I desire to be. This artifact will always be able to guide me for the rest of my life, even after my grandma passes. Although, the way she’s getting along, I don’t think I have to worry about her dying for a long time.

In addition, when I pick up a handful of the cold sand dollars, I am reminded of how much my grandma has tried to eliminate my sometimes all-too-cold contempt for other people. I swear every time I see her, I always am told, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” Maybe it can get a little tiring, but I really do feel that my grandma has drilled this into my head, so much that whenever I say something mean to someone, I am always reminding myself of how much my grandma would be ashamed of me.

To sum it all up, the sand dollars opened my eyes, and let me see life in a whole different way.

They remind me of my grandmother’s life-lessons, that wealth does not have to be measured in paper, or coins, or in other people’s success. Wealth is what people make of it, within their own hearts. That is why sand dollars made me rich. And that is why, when those kids at school ask me, “Are you, like, rich or something?” I can say, “Of course. I have sand dollars.”