BANK CARD BLUES
07/03/08 07:24
We’ve all
heard the excuse; the dog ate my homework, right?
Well how about this one? Our son incurred a rather
hefty personal debt between the end of Grade 12 in
June 2006 and the first paycheck from his summer job.
Most of his days were spent a-straddle a riding mower
on the 160-acre campus of the local Baptist seminary.
Well, his ship finally came in and he crowed about
how rich he was as he arrived home, paycheck waving.
Always ready to rain on the parade, I reminded him of
the chunk of change he owed us.
“I’ll get it to you,” he promised.
“I’ll get it to you,” he promised.
We’ve all
heard the excuse; the dog ate my homework, right?
Well how about this one? Our son incurred a rather
hefty personal debt between the end of Grade 12 in
June 2006 and the first paycheck from his summer job.
Most of his days were spent a-straddle a riding mower
on the 160-acre campus of the local Baptist seminary.
Well, his ship finally came in and he crowed about
how rich he was as he arrived home, paycheck waving.
Always ready to rain on the parade, I reminded him of
the chunk of change he owed us.
“I’ll get it to you,” he promised.
Days passed and the accumulated litter of fast food evidence began to pile up in our car. Obviously the kid had money, but I had yet to see any of it.
“About that money you owe me,” I began, for the umpteenth time.
“Oh yah right. Here’s the thing...I can’t ever get to the bank during business hours and the ATM machine won’t let me withdraw more than $20 at a time. I have to change the rules on my account so I can withdraw larger amounts. I’ll get to it right away. I promise.”
Days passed. Crumpled burger bags, greasy fries cartons, sticky pop bottles rolling around the back of my car all testified to the fact that Junior had cash in his wallet, cash I wanted to get my hands on.
Finally, his dad picked him up from work one day at noon and they went to the bank and did all the paperwork necessary to ensure he could withdraw as much money as he wanted at a time. They even opened a savings account in case he decides he wants to buy his own car one day and stop trashing ours. By this time, the money from the first paycheck had all been spent and we had to wait for the next installment, two weeks hence.
Finally Pay Day arrived and our son was once again flush. We hardly saw him for days. He continued his love affair with Tacos, wraps and burgers. No dollars crossed our palms. I began to worry that he’d spend the entire wad before I got my cut.
When he came home for lunch one day I was immediately suspicious since he only ate my food when he was too broke to buy fast food. I replayed the old tape that was on permanent loop in my brain: “About that money you owe me…,”
“I don’t have enough cash on me right now,” he said.
“Why don’t you drive by the bank on your way back to work and withdraw the full amount? You can give it to me after work.”
“I had planned to do that,” he replied, “but my bank card isn’t working any more and I don’t have time to go in and order a new one. It’s almost one o’clock and I have to get back.”
“Why won’t your bank card work?”
“I ran over my wallet with the mower this morning. Everything was shredded. It took me forever to gather up the pieces of the 40 bucks that was inside.” As he talked he dug the shreds of money out of his jeans’ pocket.
After teaching high school Shakespeare to hockey players for years, I thought I’d heard the best of the best excuses, but I had to admit that this one took the prize. He escaped while I was still laughing.
That was over a year ago and some things have changed. Junior has his own vehicle now, a better job and a bigger wage. But he still lives on fast food, runs out of cash between paychecks and keeps a running tab at The Family Bank. And just about the time I think he’s forgotten, he shows up with a wad of bills, clears his account and vows he’ll hang on to what’s left…he never does.
Isn’t that so like me and my “vows” to God? I mess up, I repent, I vow it’ll be the last time and it never is. I gossip instead of keep secrets, speed instead of leave earlier, criticize instead of encourage, stay mum instead of share Christ. The same Grace that keeps me from despairing over my own imperfect life reminds me that my son will one day be fiscally responsible. Meanwhile, I dare not miss “what is” while waiting for “what will be.” I have three friends who lost their sons in the last six months. I dishonor all they lost if I fail to cherish all I have.
-30- 770 words
“I’ll get it to you,” he promised.
Days passed and the accumulated litter of fast food evidence began to pile up in our car. Obviously the kid had money, but I had yet to see any of it.
“About that money you owe me,” I began, for the umpteenth time.
“Oh yah right. Here’s the thing...I can’t ever get to the bank during business hours and the ATM machine won’t let me withdraw more than $20 at a time. I have to change the rules on my account so I can withdraw larger amounts. I’ll get to it right away. I promise.”
Days passed. Crumpled burger bags, greasy fries cartons, sticky pop bottles rolling around the back of my car all testified to the fact that Junior had cash in his wallet, cash I wanted to get my hands on.
Finally, his dad picked him up from work one day at noon and they went to the bank and did all the paperwork necessary to ensure he could withdraw as much money as he wanted at a time. They even opened a savings account in case he decides he wants to buy his own car one day and stop trashing ours. By this time, the money from the first paycheck had all been spent and we had to wait for the next installment, two weeks hence.
Finally Pay Day arrived and our son was once again flush. We hardly saw him for days. He continued his love affair with Tacos, wraps and burgers. No dollars crossed our palms. I began to worry that he’d spend the entire wad before I got my cut.
When he came home for lunch one day I was immediately suspicious since he only ate my food when he was too broke to buy fast food. I replayed the old tape that was on permanent loop in my brain: “About that money you owe me…,”
“I don’t have enough cash on me right now,” he said.
“Why don’t you drive by the bank on your way back to work and withdraw the full amount? You can give it to me after work.”
“I had planned to do that,” he replied, “but my bank card isn’t working any more and I don’t have time to go in and order a new one. It’s almost one o’clock and I have to get back.”
“Why won’t your bank card work?”
“I ran over my wallet with the mower this morning. Everything was shredded. It took me forever to gather up the pieces of the 40 bucks that was inside.” As he talked he dug the shreds of money out of his jeans’ pocket.
After teaching high school Shakespeare to hockey players for years, I thought I’d heard the best of the best excuses, but I had to admit that this one took the prize. He escaped while I was still laughing.
That was over a year ago and some things have changed. Junior has his own vehicle now, a better job and a bigger wage. But he still lives on fast food, runs out of cash between paychecks and keeps a running tab at The Family Bank. And just about the time I think he’s forgotten, he shows up with a wad of bills, clears his account and vows he’ll hang on to what’s left…he never does.
Isn’t that so like me and my “vows” to God? I mess up, I repent, I vow it’ll be the last time and it never is. I gossip instead of keep secrets, speed instead of leave earlier, criticize instead of encourage, stay mum instead of share Christ. The same Grace that keeps me from despairing over my own imperfect life reminds me that my son will one day be fiscally responsible. Meanwhile, I dare not miss “what is” while waiting for “what will be.” I have three friends who lost their sons in the last six months. I dishonor all they lost if I fail to cherish all I have.
-30- 770 words