I believe that what we become depends on what our fathers teach us at odd moments, when they aren’t trying to teach us. We are formed by little scraps of wisdom. – Umberto Eco
So, anyway, I came across some notes from about 1995.
Deep in the Siuslaw forest, feet from the river.
Imagine you are alone – with woman and dogs but no TV nor paper.
A phone because we were doing deposition distillation for a prominent law firm which allowed us to work from home.
Bohemians gotta eat, too.
I remember the occasional frightening call.
My girlfriend was a witch and she would say, “it’s your mother,” before anybody reached for the phone.
She was never wrong and I was again reminded my life is a Stephen King novel.
Or maybe a lengthy miniseries that just fades to black in the final episode.
Until then.
1995. Spent two weeks with my parents in Florida. Dad is back bowling with his buddies and, when he’s at the alleys, he’s got this big dumb happy smile on his face like he’s just won first place at a Special Olympics championship.
God, it’s great he’s happy, but he was also an idiot ever since the strokes. The park raised his rent $30 monthly, so he got angry and bought a nearby pool home for $126,000. He figured to have his mortgage paid off by the time he’s 108.
Of course, they can’t sell the old house. Rates have climbed. Suddenly, Dad is paying the extra $30 and another mortgage. Just talked to Mom. She said Dad was sitting on the sofa kinda in his usual dazed dozing way these days and suddenly, he sits up, bright eyes flashing like he’s come back from a long trip and he’s glad to be home.
This old orphan from the Depression era on a fixed income says aloud, “My God, I own two houses.”
He’s still in diapers but his brain is back. That’s the good news. Too bad he didn’t come to before he cashed his annuities and gave some slick-talking financial consultant all the money for options on privately-owned public telephones. The guy promised my dad 14% annually, $700 a month, and when he died, Mom would get $700. Heck, when she passed away, I’d get $700.
If it sound too good to be true, it is too good to be true.
I did some research and asked their insurance man to do some research. All he gets is the run around. Scary, if you ask me. But my parents won’t.
Mom now describes me – proudly and loudly – as “a free spirit.”
She tells everybody I am “a godsend.”
So, I was on top of the world.
