Fight the charge

After marrying Husband #1, I learned all about coupons and refunds, about not turning on the heat until your lips turn blue and not turning on the air conditioning until you see steam rising from the carpet, about fighting erroneous credit card charges, and getting your money back if you aren’t happy with something.

I am not proud, well, actually, sometimes I am proud. Like when Son #3 and I went to Disney World, and after a long and exhausting day, a day when we went on only three rides because the lines were so long and there was no one helpful at the park when we got lost finding things, I called the credit card company and told them that is was not the happiest place on earth, and I wanted my $200 back. I got it back.

Or when I had my hair done for a friend’s wedding in Florida and the hairdresser insisted that I spend the extra money so my hair would not frizz in the humidity and, of course, it frizzed almost instantaneously. I fought that charge and I got it back. Yes, I have a problem. (For the record, I did go back to the salon the day after the wedding, told the owner what happened, and she was totally obnoxious…)

My father never cared about any of these things. He went shopping at Kings supermarket, which was right near his office, and probably was more expensive than any of the kosher establishments that we have around here. He didn’t mind paying more because it was convenient. And that is how I was raised. Never looking for things on sale, never going over the credit card bill with a magnifying glass and a calculator.

In fact, Husband #1 took away my bill-paying ability when we got married because he noticed that I rounded up to the nearest dollar because I wasn’t good at math. That was the end of that. If we have every given your child a check for a simcha, if they didn’t cash it in a timely matter, you most likely got a phone call or text from me. Not being able to balance a checkbook is one of the things that drives Husband #1 crazy — maybe even more than I do, and that isn’t easy.

This week is the third yahrzeit since my dad left my family. Sometimes it feels longer, sometimes it feels like yesterday. I find grief amazing. After Son and Dil #3 had Matza Ball, I actually called the doctor who delivered Son #3, who was partners with my dad, to tell him that the baby he delivered just had a baby and named it after my father. I was happy that his wife answered the phone because after I told her, I just started crying, and she kept saying, “I get it.” Or when I had a dream that my dad was with me in California visiting my sister — I felt that was him letting us know that he knows what is going on.

Does he? Who knows. But since it is his yahrzeit, I wanted to share some things about him with you. My dad had the best laugh. His whole body laughed with him, and there was nothing I loved doing more than making him laugh.

When he was in rehab, I would play music from the Nutcracker ballet and start dancing for him. My dad and I used to joke that when I took ballet when I was younger, compared to all the skinny Catholic girls from Ridgewood, I looked like the dancing hippopotamus from the movie “Fantasia.” And I knew that when he was laughing, that is what he was thinking about.

Of course there were times when I behaved in the opposite way of making him laugh, but he never made me feel that he loved me any less.

We are going to be celebrating the pidyon haben of of my dad’s namesake right after his yahrzeit. This is ironic only because my niece’s baby, who is named after my father-in-law, had his pidyon right after my father-in-law’s yahrzeit. Just another sign that they know what is going on.

We find comfort where we can.

Banji Ganchrow of Teaneck is looking forward to having Matza Ball and his parents come for Shabbos for the first time. Hopefully, she won’t screw
it up…

opinion

comments