Father’s views on money influence son

When I was a kid, I never doubted my father was the tallest and smartest man in the world. By the time I became an adult, I knew he was also the kindest, most forgiving and most wise.

If my father said something, it was so, even if I didn’t like it.

Friends of mine who did not know my father are surprised that his teachings have had such an impact on my life. Dad died almost 10 years ago at 83, you see, so I am not exactly a dependent son.

Dad grew up during the Depression, a time of scrimping, reusing, making do. He married my mother, partly I think, because, “She could really stretch a soup bone,” and during a time when they should have barely been getting by, he saved enough for a down payment on a little house.

“You get ahead in this world,” he told me, “by working hard, by being frugal, by saving. A job is sacred, and a bank is your best friend.”

Even as the family grew and the money came more often and lasted longer, my father took delight in “making do.”

When I developed a toe fungus as a child, the doctor painted my digits with a bright red medicine and told me to forsake socks and wear sandals.

“Sandals!” my father sputtered. “We’ll just cut the toes out of those oxfords he outgrew.”

And that’s why I showed up a half-hour late for fifth grade one cold February morning, hiding out in the classroom lavatory until the teacher made me face my peers.

It was painful, but nevertheless I didn’t question the wisdom of my father’s frugal ways.

Today, I don’t really want for anything, but a woman I cared for told me once that I was “weird about money.” She said I was going to die “a snarly old man with a fistful of dollars.”

She indicated I should be traveling more, eating out more, spending more on good wine and generally spoiling myself. She said I was minimizing the present by worrying about the future.

This month, as I sit at the dining room table, sorting and paying my income tax and property tax, and all the other bills that typically pile up in April, I think about my father’s attitudes concerning finances – the cautions and pitfalls he shared with his children. While it is nice to know I can pay my bills, the act doesn’t give me as much enjoyment as it once did.

Try as I might, however, it is difficult to unlearn the past. A maxed-out credit card and a zero balance in my savings account would not doom me to the poorhouse, but could I ever make it feel OK?

And while I know I may not be here tomorrow, it just seems responsible to take steps to ensure I will be financially self-reliant if I am, to make sure I will not be a burden on either family or state.

In the meantime, I’ve got peace of mind. Still, there is some creeping doubt.

Oh yes, my father would still be very proud of his frugal son, but as I look down the road and imagine I can see the end, I have begun to question some of the things he taught me about money.

Why should I eat stew if I can afford steak and prawns? Is wine-in-a-box really the same as a good African merlot?

Is a $50 motel actually as comfortable as one for three times that? Is it indeed as much fun to watch a Mariners game on TV as at Safeco Field?

What would be wrong with flying first class now and then? Would it be terribly extravagant to own four pairs of shoes?

Someone once said that the future is the past come home to roost. I don’t think I like the sound of that.

The world has become so much more threatening, life so very tenuous. Any of us could go at any time.

My instincts tell me to seize the day. My father’s legacy suggests I use some moderation.

There will be a terrible struggle. Somewhere within that conflict, I hope there is a compromise.