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At the Fairly Odd dinner table tonight, as we celebrate Oma’s (my mom’s) 65th birthday:
Oma (talking to her grandchildren), “Look; there is a six and a five on my cake!”
Jilly (5-year-old grandchild), “Wow. I thought you’d be dead by now!”
Please pass the wine.
$16,000.
That was my salary my first year out of college. Ahhh. . .the glamorous world of advertising.
With this paycheck, I had to afford rent, food, gasoline (for my mom’s beat-up Chevette) and, of course, alcohol. . .while living in a top 50 metro. I remember that I budgeted $10 a week for food, and $10 a week for drinks out with my friends. Good thing I had my priorities straight.
At some point, the Chevette died and I had to get a new car. I got an Escort for about $8,000. I don’t remember what my car payments were, but I was drowning in them. While talking to my dad, somehow it came up that the cost of my car would be about the same as the cost they’d have to pay for a wedding should I get married at some point (hillbillies don’t need real fancy weddin’s). Because I didn’t really foresee a wedding in my near future, I asked them if they’d consider paying off my car loan with the promise that they’d never have to cough up money for some future nuptials.
The deal was made, they paid off the loan. In essence, I married my car. I married an Escort. Not surprisingly, that marriage did not last too long, and I traded the Escort in for a Jeep a few years later.
Less than 10 years after my “wedding for a car” deal, I married a real live man. But, I stayed true to my word and did not ask my parents for any money to pay for the wedding or honeymoon.
I never regretted this deal, because it helped me avoid the one thing my father had begged me to avoid at all costs: credit card debt. I don’t recall him ever warning me about drugs, men or sex, but I do remember his commandment:
Thou shalt not charge more on your card than you can pay off in a month.
So when I heard this on the radio today. . .
“The (average)* 18 year old owns an (average)* of four credit cards. . .”,
*am not sure where the ‘average’ goes and can’t find the original source.
. . .I think my dad must be rolling, er. . .shaking, in his grave (he is cremated).
Four credit cards at 18. I bet none of those kids are driving around in a lame Escort with a “Just Married” sign in the back window.
I am afraid of school buses.
Nothing bad has ever happened to me on a bus (except for being excluded from the “way back” by the cool kids). And, I realize that schools have taken steps to make their buses safer for kids.
But, when I was in grade school in the 70’s, I was made to watch a Bus Safety Movie that scarred me for life. It was sort of Scared Straight for 5th graders, minus the jail scenes.
In one scene, a little girl exits the bus and runs in front of it as she crosses the street. Her handmade Valentine card slips from her folder and flutters to the ground, directly in front of the bus’ grill. She stops and runs back to grab her Valentine just as the bus driver steps on the gas. Cut to the Valentine blowing away down the street.
Another scene has a group of kids roughhousing as they climb over a snowbank to get onto the bus. The last kid in line slips and slides down the bank. . .under the bus. Buh-bye.
There were other equally horrifying scenes which probably live on in my subconscious somewhere.
So, while I may not remember a lot of what I was taught in school, I have internalized one thought:
Stay away from the bus.
Maybe THAT is why I homeschool.
Christina is a married, homeschooling, part-time working mom to three children in Southeastern Massachusetts. She's funnier on Twitter than in real life, unless she's had a drink. You can email her directly at fairlyoddmother@inbox.com.
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