My mother and I worked on a puzzle while my dad reconciled his bank statement.
"It looks like you haven't given any money to charity since we moved down here," he said to my mom.
The two of them bobbled this idea back an forth, deliberating the unexpected $160 surplus in my mom's checking account.
Like so many of their conversations, this one progressed haltingly as they each flung fragments of ideas, loosely related: Were they getting their mail? (They are.) Had her charities solicited her? (They had.) Then why hadn't she sent them any money? Oh, my dad remembered, they did not bring my mother's checkbook with them when they came from Ft. Dodge. Mystery solved.
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This topic sparked a memory for my mom: "Your father always gave me an allowance," she simpered, as if revealing a romantic secret. "I called it my mad money. Every month he gave me $50 spend however I chose!"
My father, across the room in his chair, did not chime in, but my mother went on: "I got to choose what I wanted to spend it on, and I didn't have to ask for his approval!" She was beaming, delighted with the happy memory of her "allowance."
I gritted my teeth and focused on the puzzle to hide my eye roll.
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Every marriage is an enigma. By many standards, my parents' 65-year union is a success. But I cannot imagine the power imbalance in a partnership where one holds the purse strings and "gives" an "allowance" to the other. It made me cringe.
What made it worse was my mother's palpable pleasure in extolling my dad's generosity. She was telling me this with pride, and I was hearing it with a shudder.
I wanted to say, "Wow. He GAVE you $1.60 a day? What a guy."
I'm not mad at my dad. But I am sad to think that my "liberated" parents have for years shared this paternalistic model of financial decisionmaking.
We've come a long way, baby?
It's taking too long.
Enough.
Be well.
Write.
Allison
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