Just Say No

Usually children pit one parent against the other. If the child wants something and one parent says "no", the child goes to the other parent to try to get his way. At odd times while dealing with my weebles, I have become the parent.

Ma had a stack of letters to be mailed. There must have been a dozen or more. All were being sent to some sort of contest, pychic, or bogus charity. No doubt each envelope contained a check for a small amount, $5 or $10. A dozen and this was just one days' mailing.

She asked me to stop at the post office downtown on the way to the doctor's office. I said no. If these were bills to the electric company or property taxes, I would have stopped. (Well, in all honesty, not without a bit of whining. I hate driving downtown.) I thought "no" would be the end of it, but I should have known better.

A short time later, Dad approached me.

"Mother has some letters she needs to mail. She needs you to stop at the post office on the way to the doctor's office."

"Mother" when he's in the father you will do as I say mode.

I apologize if the following statement offends anyone. It is, or was a very common, Bostonian statement. I have spelled it phonetically to give the true flavor of a Boston accent. It translates to "What are you on, crack?"

"What ah you, retahded? She just asked me, and I said 'no'. I'm not going to enable her. She's only sending out things to the scammers. She can put the letters in the mailbox for your letter carrier to pick up. Though you should take them, tear them up, and throw them away." End of discussion, though I should have known better.

"She says you always do things for me and not for her." There was a note of glee in Dad's voice.

"Well, you can abuse of her of that notion. I just shot you down too. You can also remind her, she did not push her walker the two miles to the emergency room, or the eleven miles to Market Basket, the twenty doctor's appointments or the million other shuttle runs of my Toonerville Trolley takes her."

Thou shalt honor thy father and thy mother. Easier carved in stone than done. Help me, Lord, I'm trying. There should be a corollary to that rule. Except when they are doing something stupid like flushing their income down the commode. Than thou shalt just say 'no'

Wedding Bell Blues

I was sputtering when I opened up the invitation sized envelope.

“What’s got your panties in a bunch?” Himself asked.

“We got a save the date magnet from my cousin George’s daughter.”

“Save the date?”

“Yeah, a notice that she’s engaged to be married, supposed to be sent out 8 months to a year before the wedding date. Except this one is for a wedding this October.”

“Ok, so you’re bent out of shape because they didn’t follow Emily Post wedding etiquette?”

“No, I’m bent out of shape because I’m just a gift.”

“I’m not following.”

“I haven’t seen Annie since she was 4 years old. Haven’t seen Cousin George since he gave Uncle George a surprise birthday party 4 or 5 years ago. See? I’m just a gift. And I know Ma’s going to want to go. She’ll have a new captive audience to sing the ‘He’s Stupid Song’ to. I don’t want to go.”

Himself looked at the magnet with the bride and groom’s name and wedding date. “Hey, this is the first Sat. in October. Isn’t your year long calligraphy class meeting the first Saturday of the month?”

“Yes! You’re brilliant!”

“Hey, that’s why I get the big bucks.”

So I didn’t sweat the issue when the invitation arrived. I checked off the ‘will not attend’ box on the reply card, and thought this would be the end. Then there was the phone call from Dad.

“Did you get an invitation to the wedding?”

“Yes, but I’m not going.”

There was a very long pause on the other end of the line. A pause, like the line went dead or a pause because I had blurted out that I was the kidnapper of the Lindberg baby. “Dad? You still there.”

“Yes. Your mother will want to go to this wedding.”

I felt the familiar pain form behind my left eye. “I told you, I’m not going…”

“But it’s family!”

“Family? Hello! This girl wouldn’t know me from a hole in the wall! I’m just a gift! I haven’t seen or heard from Cousin George since I got invited to Uncle George’s birthday where I was another gift. I’m not going because I signed up to take a year long calligraphy class and it happens to meet on that day.”

I thought that was going to be the end and then there was another phone call from Dad.

“Your mother wants to go to the wedding.”

“Fine, I’m not stopping her, but I can’t drive you. I told you I have a class that day and can’t go. You do realize that this wedding isn’t until 5:30 pm.”

“What?”

“The wedding ceremony isn’t until 5:30 pm at Piney Point at the church. If she has a Mass, you won’t be getting out until 6:30 or 7pm. Then you have to go to the hotel in Boston. The bridal party will need an hour for photographs. The reception won’t be starting until 8pm. Honestly, I don’t think Ma will be able to take the day. It will be too much for her.”

“Oh, I didn’t look that closely at the invitation.”

I thought that was going to be the end and then there was the note that arrived with the check for his portion of the telephone bill.

“What did you say?” Himself asked.

I sighed deeply and dramatically. “She’s trying to wear me down, and I don’t want to go.”

“Go where?”

“To that stupid wedding. Dad just sent me a note. ‘Your mother wants to go to the wedding.’ I’m not going.”

“You don’t have to. You have your calligraphy class.”

“That’s not going to stop her from hounding me. Where’s the aspirin?”

“Then throw me under the bus. Tell her I work on Saturdays at the karate studio.”

“That won’t stop her. She wants a ride.”

“Maybe your dad’s friend will drive them.”

“She wouldn’t know anyone at the wedding.”

“Exactly, she’d be a gift.”

New World Order

Since Ma and Dad first were married 64 years ago, Ma managed the purse strings, and Dad got an allowance. Instead of working as a team, both of them have this silly “my money – your money” concept. Their system generally worked fine until about 20 years ago when Ma became addicted to the phony lotteries and scam artists, and she whizzed through their savings. She blithely writes checks without having the funds to cover them. The bank happily slaps her with finance charges though they are generous in charging only $5 per bounced check instead of the $35 per check most banks charge their customers. The finance charges add up to a tidy sum per month.

A city girl, born and bred, Ma hated the town they moved to. She wants to move. She wants to move back to East Boston and into an apartment for $100 per room. She wants her rent to be $300 or $400 per month, utilities included!

She wants to teach Dad a lesson so she issued him an ultimatum. She will no longer pay for "anything". So, Dad took her up on her challenge. He went to their bank, had his social security check removed from the direct deposit to Ma’s checking account. He went to another bank, opened up his own account and authorized his social security check to be direct deposited into the account. Yes, you can say it. It’s about #%@#@ time!

I was concerned initially he might not be able to handle the expenses, especially the property taxes which are payed quarterly.

He said he would be able to manage. "I'll do alright as long as I can hold her off."

"Her" I assumed was Ma. "What do you mean?"

"The other day she asked me to write out a check so she could send it to one of the scammers."

Altogether now,

"What happened?"

"I told her 'No!'"

I think Dad's enjoying himself. Long live the King!

Thursday's Child

The sun was shining and though cold, it promised to be a beautiful day. Dad's eye doctor appointment had been changed from 10am to an hour earlier, and I was unable to give him a ride. I pushed down the momentary guilt and reveled in the thought I had crossed an imaginary international date line and gained a day. Since I didn't have a Weeble run, I had an extra day to work on the roll call book. Yes, it promised to be a perfect day.

I told the Young One I would do some work on the book, and we could spend the afternoon at the mall having lunch and shopping. In the middle of lettering, the phone rang and on the fourth ring the call was sent to voice mail. Most times, these calls are from telemarketers and charities. On the off chance it was the Eldest calling for a ride home from work because another water main broke, I dialed into the voice mail and saw red. Steam poured from my ears.

Seems Ma wasn't happy with the bank telling her the $250 check didn't seem kosher, she called the scam man who issued the check, and gave him my phone number so he could talk to me! I could feel the blood pounding in my ears. How dare she! How dare she put me in the middle of her OPD stupidity! I paced, cursed, and spoke in tongues. I said the eff word several hundred times.

Long ago, and through the hard way, I learned to continue with my work if I was unhappy or in a bad mood, was disastrous. The work came through my hands in ugly puddles and rivers and would only need to be redone. Since I was writing in a book, I couldn't take the chance pages could easily be removed in order to redo. No sense trying to work with flames shooting from my eyes.

Just as I'm collecting keys and kid, the phone rings. No psychic or caller ID to tell me the call is from Ma. She dances around the reason for the call. I don't mention her scammer had called earlier. Finally, she tells me about that damn check. I tell her she's never to give my phone number out to anyone.

"I don't care if the Pope himself wants my number. You're not to give it out! Do you understand?"

She whines the man told her the check is good, and she should cash it. She's like a dog worrying a bone and no amount of reasoning or cajoling is going to work.

"If you want to cash the check, cash the damn check!"

I feel the familiar throbbing behind my left eye. I'm determined she's not going to spoil the rest of the day. I may not be able to work, but I can enjoy the afternoon with my kid. It's near lunch time and I tell the Young One we are going to be very naughty. We are going to have ice cream for lunch and the world can go to hell in a hand basket. The Young One is thrilled.

The weather was sunny and pleasant for a winter day. There was a feeling of Spring in the air. We went to the ice cream parlor, and I was disappointed to find there were no tables to enjoy the decadent treat inside. I wasn't adventurous enough to eat my ice cream outside. No worries. I promised the Young One we would be naughty. We head to the bookstore. I order cups of chai and a double chocolate cheesecake slice for her, and a heated cinnamon bun for me. I try to concentrate on the delight of the Young One and not Ma and that damn check. I wish I could make the draft spontaneously combust or to find a way to reason with Ma. Thursdays' child has far to go.

Tuesday's Child is Full of Grace

I had Tuesday all neatly planned. Ma and Dad had a doctor's appointment mid-afternoon. Since it was school vacation week, I thought I'd dra...take my Young One with me for a visit with Grandma before the appointment. I planned an hour and a half visit. We'd sit, have tea, whine and I'd score points as the Golden Child for bringing the grandchild for a visit. Perfect.

My plans didn't work out the way the way I had choreographed things in my head. They rarely do, but I'm ever hopeful. The minute we walked through the door, Ma wanted to go to the bank. I don't think she even notice the Young One with me. She urgently needed to go to the bank to cash a check.

Every family has a skeleton, dirty secret, or crazy relative hidden in the attic. The dirty secret in my family is Ma is addicted to bogus lotteries, psychics, contests all promising prize money and riches. The amounts she sends out are small but over time it has added up to a hefty chunk of change. She dreams, wishes and talks about money. As if there's a celestial slot machine that will rain quarters on her. I'm reminded of the line from The Quiet Man "Money! Is that all you Danahers think of? I'm sick of the talk of it."

So that was the reason we had to dash to the bank. "Someone" had sent her a check for $250. No amount of telling her these things are scams penetrate gold fever. If I try to point out these letters with their checks (and we're not talking about one or two, but stacks and stacks) are scams or equity loans, she yells I have no faith in her. She's right, I don't. But "someone" has sent her the check, and she has to get to the bank. There is no reasoning with her. She's like a spoiled child hounding and whining for a treat. Some children need to learn lessons the hard way. I take her to bank so she can cash the damn check. Let some scam artist drain the account. It's bound to happen sooner or later, let it be sooner. I can have the satisfaction of saying "I told you so."

The Young One and I wait in the car, me with my book and the Young One with an electronic game. We are startled when the car door is wrenched open. It's only Grandpa speaking in tongues. Grandma must have started singing the "You're Stupid" song at the bank. Grandpa takes a few deep breaths and then goes back into the bank as Ma will need help coming out. The Young One and I watch from the car window. Soon Ma and Dad come out. The Young One remarks that Grandma looks sad.

"The teller wouldn't cash the check!" She is upset and very unhappy.

"And why is that?" I know the answer. I hope having a stranger tell her what we've been telling her all along will have finally sunk in.

"She said it looked funny and she wouldn't cash it. She said we need to go to the bank at the mall and have them cash it."

"No! The check is illegal. We don't have time to go to the mall and make it to the doctor's appointment."

"Why would she tell me to go to bank at the mall?"

Because if she told you to go to hell, she'd lose her job. "Because she didn't want to deal with a pain in the ( ! ) customer who wouldn't listen to her her when she said there was something wrong with the damn check.

Ma was not happy, but her mood improved when she came out of the doctor's office. She was beaming. The doctor told her for her 88 years, she is in top shape. He cut back her heart medication. She also has the blood pressure of a 25 yr. old woman. Dad also had a good report, much to his chagrin. Good news, the two of them are going to live forever.

Back at the house, she wants to find the envelope the check came in. I feel the familiar throbbing of the vessel behind my left eye. She has the blood pressure of a 25 yr. old woman. I can feel mine start to skyrocket.