Rent asunder

I’m starting to think that I should have a website just devote to the funny things that I say. Ok. Maybe they’re not so terribly funny. They are, nonetheless, funny enough to sometimes put a smile on my face as I recall them on waking occasionally from a deep sleep. Whatever.

So, if I am manic depressive, this must be the manic part, because I have confidence and could actually play things well with the left hand when I practiced the piano today. I digress. But digression is fun, so why not, I ask you (does that sentence require a period or a question mark?) Good, I get to use one in any case.

So, more jokes on my progress to acceptable Germanhood:

A man in the chorus has to play a cook in the second act of Wildschütz. His hat kept bending over, unable to stand up straight. Someone suggested that they use more starch for it in the wash to which I promptly retorted:

“Starch or Viagra either one.”
A woman chimed in “Viagra, that stuff doesn’t work anyway.”
“Really? How do YOU know?” I replied.

Ok, it’s not that funny. It’s not even funnier in German than in English. I just laughed and laughed at it, though.

I think a couple of the most troubling parts of my recent history have been virtually unmentioned in this blog. Let’s start with the older of the two stories: “the bill.”

The problem started when I received my settlement from a motorcycle accident that I had in 2002. It was always agreed that when the payment came in, I would pay ma Father back the $5000 (plus interest) that he had loaned me to come to Germany. I had a little meeting with Dad before the settlement was finalized, and thus begins the story.

I had gone to our hometown bank and asked that my account there be made private (the account had previously been accessible to both of my parents.) I wanted to making sure that Dad did not have access to my account, therefore ensuring that the amount of the settlement remain secret from everyone in the world except Chris and myself. I think that this is the best philosophy, in that it is no one’s business, and jealousy is a terrible thing. Even now, we are the only two who know how much the settlement was. But, because of the account, and how it was set up, I had to have Dad sign a paper to have his access to the account taken away.

Dad agreed to sign the papers relinquishing the access to the account. Unfortunately, though, Dad saw this as an opportunity to also push another issue, that of “the bill”. The bill is a paper that my Father has been keeping on me since I was about 23 years old. It totals money that he has loaned me through the years. It includes everything from money he loaned me to buy a car so that I could travel to my associate professorship and hour and half outside of Kansas City, money to pay rent when I ran short, pretty typical graduate student burden on the parents kind of stuff. The total of the bill is about $14,000.

Since that day, I have asked everyone that is in any way close to me to give their opinions on “the bill.” I didn’t want to think that, because I have many other problems with Dad, that I also saw this bill as an injustice when it wasn’t. The comments that I heard from everyone definitely gave some light on the subject. Most people that I have asked could not imagine their parents taking down amounts they have been loaned in the past; they could not imagine their parents even making a bill. The overall consensus of the people asked is that there should never have been a bill in the first place.

These events, and the past, unaddressed emotions I have about my Father made September until December rather troubling from a psychological standpoint. I originally wanted to see a counselor for it. But, as time passes, my venom’s edges have flattened a bit. Time heals all wounds is one of our most valuable adages, I find.