“Penny saved is a penny earned” is a saying that people who are good at managing their finances believe to be true.
Otha Anders, a former teacher from Louisiana, had been collecting pennies for a very long time. It all started as a goal of collecting pennies he would find on the street, and it soon turned into a passion he couldn’t say no to. Over the course of 45 years, this man had managed to fill in 15 5-gallon jugs of change before he finally decided to cash the pennies in 2015 when his homeowner’s insurance stopped covering the collection.
Speaking of his achievement which left the clerks at the bank totally stunned, Anders told ABC News: “If I would see a penny when I’m gassing up, on the ground, or in a store, it would be a reminder to stop right there and say a prayer. I never failed to do that. That’s why they had so much value to me.
“I would never spend a penny,” he told USA Today. “I would break a dollar before giving up a penny.
“I wanted to fill five five-gallon water jugs. That was the goal, but I couldn’t stop. … If I hadn’t turned them in yesterday, I was not going to stop,” he said.
Everyone who knows Anders knew of his passion and his collection. Even the kids at the school where he worked. He would sometimes buy pennies from them, but he would never take, not even a single one, without paying for it.
“I never allowed anyone, not even my wife nor children, to give me pennies without being compensated,” he told USA Today. “I wanted the inner satisfaction that God and I acquired this collection.”
When he arrived at the Ruston Origin Bank in Ruston, Louisiana, the staff welcomed him in and were more than happy to assist him. For his stunning collection of pennies, Anders got $5,136.14.
Take a look at the video below to learn more about Anders and his collection.
My husband wanted a divorce because I couldn’t give him a son. What happened next changed our lives forever.
Marriage had always been a partnership of love and support, or at least that’s what I believed when Steve and I first tied the knot 16 years ago. Over time, we were blessed with five beautiful daughters, each one a joy and a challenge in her own way. Yet, in Steve’s eyes, our family lacked something crucial: a son.
Steve’s desire for a male heir became an obsession, overshadowing every happy moment we had. His traditional mindset dictated that a man’s legacy could only be carried on by a son, and our daughters, no matter how wonderful, were seen as inadequate. This belief had eaten away at the fabric of our marriage, turning our once joyous union into a battleground of unmet expectations and silent resentment.
Steve’s job kept him away most of the time, leaving me to juggle the responsibilities of raising our daughters, maintaining the household, and managing a part-time online job. His absence wasn’t just physical; it was emotional too. He was a shadow in our home, present yet distant, and his discontent seeped into every corner of our lives.
The Breaking Point
One late night, a seemingly innocent conversation spiraled into a full-blown argument. I had suggested trying one more time for a son, even though I was already forty. Steve’s response was brutal and laced with years of pent-up frustration.
“Shut up already,” he snapped. “We’ve been together for 16 years and you couldn’t bring me a son. What makes you think you will do it this time?”
I tried to reason with him, “But Steve, only God…”
“ONLY GOD DECIDED TO PUNISH ME WITH YOU AND ANOTHER 5 FEMALES,” he yelled, his face contorted with anger. “I wish I could go back in time and change everything.”
The venom in his words was palpable, and it stung more than any physical blow could. Our daughters, our life together, everything we had built was being torn down in this moment of raw emotion. Suddenly, we heard a noise behind the door. When we checked, there was no one there, and we dismissed it as the creaking of an old house. Little did we know, that sound was a harbinger of the events that would soon unfold.
The Missing Child
The next day, our lives took an unexpected turn. It was 6 pm, and Lisa, our 12-year-old, was always home by this time. Panic set in when she didn’t show up. As worry gnawed at us, Sara, our second-born, came running with tears streaming down her face, clutching a letter.
Steve snatched the letter from her hand and began reading. His face went ashen, his eyes widened with fear. He turned to me, his voice trembling, “This is serious.”
The letter was a ransom note. It claimed that Lisa had been kidnapped and demanded an exorbitant amount of money for her safe return. The instructions were clear: no police, no tricks, or we’d never see her again.
The Race Against Time
Our world was shattered. The next hours were a blur of frantic phone calls, desperate plans, and heart-wrenching decisions. Steve, usually stoic and composed, was a mess. His obsession with having a son seemed insignificant now compared to the possibility of losing his daughter.
The experience taught us that the value of family isn’t determined by gender but by the love, respect, and support we give each other. Steve learned to cherish his daughters and our marriage, realizing that true happiness comes from within and is nurtured by the bonds we share.
Our lives were forever changed by that harrowing experience, but it also brought us closer, forging a stronger, more resilient family. The past year had been incredibly tough, but it led to a new beginning, one where we could all be truly happy together.
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