- Share This Post
- Pin It
- 11
-
Sparkle (0)
There are things that I have become quite adept at avoiding, things other than my bank account thus aimlessly guessing the amount that is in said account (hint: I’m usually wrong). In addition to this folly, I don’t like to look at my pay stub because I fear knowing how much in taxes is being taken out (hint: holy hell). I also avoid unknown places like my closet or underneath my bed or the trunk of my car because I tend to arbitrarily toss things and the result is usually terrifying. Like month old Trader Joe’s bean dip terrifying.
Anyway, I relayed the following story to Susan Wagner while visiting (Susan Wagner and I had many deep conversations ranging from the mommy wars to why Sonic has such excellent tater tots) giving further proof to things I am great at and forever intend to avoid:
In October of 2001 my mother went to Prague. When she went to Prague in October of 2001, I promptly freaked the hell out because it’s Europe and it’s far and someone had just crashed a 747 into a large building three miles away and so maybe she could not go to Prague. I hear Vermont is lovely in the Fall. But she had made the plans and all of her reassurances that she would be fine, it’s Prague, did nothing to abate the fear. A very serious fear that inevitably led to me consuming nothing but Thin Mints and Peach Schnapps for six days and my roommate returning back from class each night to me under the covers and in tears. In my defense, I was only 17 at the time, living in DC and did I mention the part with the planes crashing into buildings? Prior to her departure, my mother, wonderful woman that she is, despite the fact that living with her gives me hives, decided to go even further to quell my fears by telling me where her will was located. Including explicit instructions as to who to call and what to do and where money was and how to gain access to her 401(K) and…I had to excuse myself from the phone as she told me this because the sobbing drowned out her telling me exactly which side of the drawer it was in.
I told this story to Susan because we both have similar feelings as to knowing the whereabouts of our parent’s money and the status of their personal finance in the event that they die. No matter the age of the child with whom this information is being divulged, it’s a sensitive matter because a) the thought of a parent dying is one of those territories that will leave one curled up in a ball in the corner and b) because your parent’s money is their money. It’s a sticky barrier that I’d rather not cross. I like to refer to it as the DMZ, knowing that crossing that line will find me in a rather precarious position.
Being semi-rational for a moment here, it is technically good information to have, but my parent’s finances are their finances. As long as my cell phone bill is being paid and I get a birthday present, I’m cool with it. I even find my mother’s jokes about being broke because of her second mortgage (on a house, on an island, so don’t feel bad for her) to be a little dicey. I just don’t want to go there. With my father it’s a completely different story because he’s not paying my cell phone bill but as far as I know, my brother has yet to be removed from college because of a defaulted payment, so it’s all good in the hood there, too. We tend to run a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy when it comes to money and the fact that my mother knows exactly how much I make and when my raises come annoys the crap out of me because frankly it’s none of her business (see also, payment of cell phone bill and how long I can keep that up for). Then when you throw in talks of wills and where the one hundred dollar bills are stashed (in a sock, duh) then things are just headed for a place where I’d rather not be. Think Ithaca, in mid-January, that’s how I feel about any knowledge of my parent’s finances.
I’m an ‘adult’ now and I use that word with great care and somewhat incredulously,
