Being a kid is like having a time machine when it comes to money.  There’s a certain wonderful naiveté that accompanies the age when you think of $20 as a “lot of money.”

The biggest physical manifestation of this childhood time when money is worth more is the piggy bank.  It certainly requires a bit of self-control, but saving all of the money that belongs to you in a small pig and being proud is a feeling that is hard to reacquire once you actually have a salary and bank account.

Katie and I keep a pig that we keep leftover change in, but in terms of actual amount of savings, it pales in comparison to our bank accounts.  It does have something that the rest of our accounts lack: a presence.

A piggy bank is there, in your home, on your counter or end table.  Saving money is accompanied by a satisfying little clink and the gradual additional weight and heft that the pig attains.  And although the money is hidden behind a veneer of porcelain or plastic, it is never actually out of reach.  It never requires a trip to the local ATM or signing a small slip of paper.

It harkens back to a simpler time, when people kept all of their money in a sock under the mattress, when you saved up for a particularly cool toy instead of whipping out a plastic card, when a $5 tip seemed like the utmost extravagance.