Do you remind your own child of the sacrifices you’ve made for them? I don’t think so, because they should be aware of that, not for the sake of saying thank you or paying you back, but for the sake of respecting their parents in times of need.
That day, my own daughter looked straight into my eyes and told me I had two options; either go by her husband’s rules or get out of the house. Honestly, I didn’t hesitate much before I started packing my suitcase. I never mentioned the mortgage payment for their house I covered nor the money I spent on groceries and little repairs around the house. Why? Because it wasn’t worth arguing with her.
Tiffany thought I’d take it as usual and cool down, forgive them, and come back to her as I usually did, considering that family disputes weren’t my thing. However, that passive version of myself died long ago.
Everything began on that particular Saturday. I used part of my Social Security money to buy food for Tiffany and her husband Harry, even purchased his preferred expensive beer. As soon as I came home, I found Harry lying in my comfortable leather recliner, which my deceased wife Martha gave to me. Not even looking up from the TV screen, he yelled at me, “Old man, bring me another beer.”
When I told him to wait for a minute so I can store the groceries first, he became aggressive, rose from the chair, and tried intimidating me. “Your house? Tiffany and I live in it,” he said disdainfully.
“You live in this house because I let you,” I answered back.
Then Tiffany walked in and took Harry’s side, telling me to just take the beer and not to start any fight.
“You live under our roof now. When I tell you to do something, you will do it,” Harry said, stepping forward toward me.
Looking at my daughter, expecting her to say something in my defence, she stepped beside Harry. “Dad, you need to make up your mind: either you help Harry and do what he tells you, or leave.”
“All right. I’ll pack.”
Her face turned pale, but I was already walking down the hallway. Picking out my clothes, medications, documents, and a frame with Martha’s picture in it, I packed them into my suitcase without saying a single word. Rolling it past them, they both stayed silent.
I found a small room at a motel at the edge of town. As a man who had worked all his life in the banks, I perfectly understood how financial system works. Already on Sunday morning, I made that table in the motel room into a command center.
With one phone call, I prevented the automated mortgage payments for the house. With another, I cancelled Harry’s truck and Tiffany’s car from my auto insurance policy. Then, I called all of the credit card companies and froze my accounts by taking Tiffany off of being the authorized user. Mortgage frozen. Insurance cancelled. Credit cards frozen. I severed any financial connection I had with them.
A few days after that, an old coworker named Bob saw me at a diner and pulled me aside. “Clark, did you know that Harry tried to take out a fifty-thousand dollar home equity loan on your house a few months ago? He tried because he needs money,” Bob told me. “The bank denied it because the title is in your name, but everything that he submitted was completely fake.” Bob went on to say that Harry was deep in debt. Apparently, he was addicted to gambling.
I called an old friend of mine in the police force, Detective Jim Morrison. He verified that Harry owed about eighteen thousand dollars in gambling debts. This is what it all amounted to. It was more than just Harry being rude, he was actively trying to ruin me. If I had stayed quiet, he would have stolen the roof right over my head.
So, I returned to the motel, created the Evidence folder on my laptop, and walked straight to the courthouse. I filled out my official eviction forms and reported him for loan fraud. Jim also told me that Harry was talking to some lawyer about laws of adverse possession in order to steal my property just by staying in it long enough.
On Thursday, I got a restraining order against Harry. Also, I contacted all debt collection agencies that were bugging me at this address, and told them that Harry was not the owner of the house and was not related financially to me at all.
Without my financial support, Harry’s whole world fell apart. He quit his job, and on Saturday, he was at his lowest point. He was outside of the bank, telling people in the crowd that I had abandoned my daughter.
I approached him. “Hey, Harry. How are the gambling debts?”
The crowd fell silent. Harry’s face blushed. “You miserable old…”
“I can document every dollar I spent supporting you for five years,” I said calmly. “Can you document where your paychecks went?” He had no answer and slunk away.
Harry made one final, desperate attempt by making people believe that Tiffany was pregnant and faced some medical emergencies so that he could guilt me into giving him some cash. I personally called the doctor’s office; no record of any pregnancy.
It didn’t take very long before money was finished, and as usual, Harry packed his truck while Tiffany was away working and left the town. Those kinds of people leave when their well dries up.
I called up Tiffany and told her to meet me at the diner. She was tired and broken and crying all about the debt. She told me Harry maxed out her credit card at the casino.
I let her finish, then told her she had exactly one shot at a relationship with me: total honesty. She had to tell everyone at the church she was leaving Harry.
“What will they think?” she whispered.
“They will think that you have a dad who sacrificed his pension plan for you and that you took it for granted,” I replied.
Regarding the house, I told the truth too. “I gave it away. The house is owned by the Montana Veterans Housing Initiative now. There are three veteran families coming to live there. My will has been updated too; the house won’t return to you. I have to know that we are connected without the idea of inheritance between us.”
This time, her crying was sincere. “I am sorry, Dad.”
“Sorry is just the start,” I told her. “It’s not the end.”
The next Sunday, Tiffany kept her promise. She went to the pulpit of the church and revealed all. Then, people were shaking hands with me, at last, knowing the whole truth. She divorced from her husband, and got herself into counseling.
I got myself a little cabin, and Tiffany and I meet once a week for coffee. She never asks for money, but I still help her.
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Bored Daddy
Love and Peace
