Ten years ago

Last night as I lay in bed, I found myself thinking of my Dad -- his last words to me before he died, watching his body slow down and stop on the Autumnal Equinox of 2012, how I'm here now in France because of him (to connect with my heritage, and because he left me money to afford the trip). I brought with me on this journey a copy of a letter he wrote to me ten years ago (maybe even exactly, it's not dated but I remember clearly receiving it in late spring/early summer). That April I turned 30 and had come to the empowered realization that I didn't have to wait for life to bring me what I wanted; I could - and wanted to - take some matters into my own hands.

When my dad's father died, I was just 5 years old. It was the first and maybe only time I heard my dad cry, when he got the phone call from the hospital during dinner. What I remember of my grandpapa is him teaching me to count in French, and seeing his frail body but kind smile. Years later I appropriated from the living room desk drawers a few scraps of paper with aphorisms in his meticulous handwriting, and a black-and-white photo of him reading the newspaper, dressed like a gentleman, legs crossed and sitting tall in an armchair. His legacy to me and my brother was some money that my father put in the stock market. A prudent investor, my dad's approach was to buy safe stocks and let them accumulate for half a lifetime. This wisdom paid for me to go to college, with a little left over that I believed I would receive when I turned 25.

Ten years ago, 25 had come and gone and whenever I asked my dad about turning those stocks over to me he refused, saying he didn't believe I would manage things well. But when 30 came, I decided to contact the companies directly and ask what could be done. No problem, they said! You're well past being a minor; just send a copy of your birth certificate and the transfer is complete. There'd be a fee without the original documents, which I informed my dad about, as well as my self-righteous intention to deduct said fee from a car loan I had borrowed him. I planned to use the money to support myself as a potter (those of you who've known me that long remember my passion for it, as well as my financial frustration; if that's a new revelation about me to you, you can see images of pots I made here).

This letter is the only one he ever wrote me (not counting cards and post-it notes), and I treasure it. (I left the endearing typos.)

Dear Dear Michele

I must tell you how I really was impressed with your letter. It tells me you have the guts to go for what you want "Great" Even though its not my idea of what I thing you should be doing My idea is that one should have a steady job like everyone else and these other things be on the side. You have chosen to do the opposite which scares me because its easy to fail in something that is different but it is your choice. I too rebelled against my father when I wanted something and he would not agree. I am glad you took the bull by the horns about your stock. I would have done the same but remember this, they are a money maker for you. If you need to get a loan those stocks can get you money without spending them, keep that in mind that's a lot of money. I once wanted a 1955 CHEVY with power everything, my father didn't think I should have it so I sold my E-BONDS to pay for it so sometimes you have to take the bull by the horns.

About the money, when you tell people you are going to pay them it is important that you keep your word. If I call a stockbroker and tell him to buy stock for me he expects to be paid it is called a verbal contract. You must honor your commitment. So when you said you sold your car and could send [money] I expected that you would so can [you] see how I felt (sorry) get the picture?

OK Kid I still love you, we may not see each other thinking but your still my kid

Love Dad

P.S. The difference between me and your credit card is I never charged you interest

No, Dad, you never charged me interest. And your wisdom, acceptance and love for me are still paying dividends. That meal you looked forward to sharing, all of us together, with wine and my homemade bread? I'm having it now, and you're here with me, laughing and singing and enjoying.

Thank you...

Much love,

Your dear, dear Michèle

 

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