My father often used the old expression, “I wish I had a nickel…” Probably for every time my brothers and I said, “How many more minutes till we get there.”  Or, maybe, for each time he successfully made April Fools out of us or beat us in basketball.

The saying may have evolved from the 1920s phrase: “A person would shoot you for a nickel.” That had something to do with an individual who did not value the life of another—meant as a joke, I hope.

“Squeezing a nickel” is an expression reserved for a Scrooge-like person who goes to extreme lengths to save money. “You can’t get blood from a turnip” is also an old way of saying someone is tight with money.

But we were discussing nickels, though I don’t know why. When was the last time you saw a nickel, held it in your hand, or used one to buy something? Anything?

It has been a while since I’ve taken a good look at the Thomas Jefferson coin. It would take a truckload of nickels to make any headway when shopping.

With inflation over the years, the expression got an upgrade. It became, “I wish I had a dollar for ….” But a dollar doesn’t add up to much either. One dollar doesn’t translate to more than a few miles in gas or even cover a bag of M&Ms.

Gone are, “I wish I had a nickel…” and “I wish I had a dollar…” from my everyday conversations. I’ve raised the ante to five dollars.

I wish I had five dollars for:

Every time I’ve misplaced my car keys.

Every time Gary says, “It’s the littlest of nothings.”

Every time I said, “Don’t be a WSB (Wimpy, Sissy, Baby),” to my children and kids I coached.

Every piece of junk email I delete. Better yet, I wish the senders had to pay me $5 to drop anything in my inbox.

I wish I had five dollars for:

Every circular in my mailbox.

Every time I said, “I’m counting to three.”

Every time my mother said, “I’m counting to three.”

Every time one of my brothers said, “I wish I had taken your advice.”

Every time WVU football and basketball teams have broken my heart.

Every time I told my children, “I am not your friend; I am your mom. And one day, you’ll be happy about that.”

By the way, they do seem to be happy about that.

I wish I had five dollars for:

Every time I said, “Use your inside voice.”

Every time someone says “bring” when the correct word is “take.”

Every time I fight the urge to go gray.

Every time I give my adult children unsolicited advice. Ugh.

Sometimes I just can’t help myself.

I could fill pages and pages with these five-dollar wishes, but filling them is like going to the mailbox hoping for the surprise BIG check that never comes.

From 1900 to the 1930s, a nickel bought a loaf of bread, a ride on a trolley, or a movie ticket. Back then, if you had a nickel, you could buy an ice cream cone, a hotdog, or a bottle of pop. A nickel covered a ride on the subway or the bus.

No wonder everyone wished they had a nickel. But not me. I wish I had five dollars—for every time I’ve wished I had five dollars.