Today is my father's yahrzeit--the anniversary of his death by the Jewish calendar. He died in 1998, so he's been gone quite a while now, but I've been thinking of this story about him, so I came here (after a long absence, I see; last post was in mid-May) to tell it. It's not really a story about him, but a story about me and about how I think/thought of him. It's not the only thing I think/thought about him (what parent-child relationship is not terribly entangled and complex?), but it is the thing I want to tell now.
When I was in my twenties, rambling from here to there, working one job and then another, not thinking much about my future or a career, not earning very much money and not really much concerned with doing so, I sometimes had a secret suspicion that my father was making secret deposits into my bank account--so secret that they never showed up on the bank statement but so consistent that I always seemed to have as much money as I needed for whatever I wanted. Granted, my needs were simple, but still . . . the money was always there in the bank account when I needed or wanted to spend it. My father was not a wealthy man, nor was I a wealthy young woman, but I had a feeling of security about money.
My daughter was home visiting recently, and the subject of money came up. Her situation is similar to what mine was when I was that age. Her income is small, but she always has what she needs when she needs it--to the extent that it feels somewhat mysterious and inexplicable to her. I suggested that perhaps my father is carrying on the tradition . . . the reverse embezzlement, as I think of it. So skilled and crafty is he that no one has ever come up with definitive proof.
A friend of mine recently said that this is what she thinks of as faith . . . not religious, but the feeling that you'll always have what you need when you need it.