Here is a little illustration of my father’s generosity.

“Careful,” said the skeleton of my father.

Sometime in the mid-1980s my father gave me a car, his 1978 Buick Regal, a slightly sporty two-door car he bought after my sister and I were out of the house.   He replaced the Regal with a Buick LeSabre, I believe, on his way to a series of leased Cadillacs.   He liked a powerful engine, eight cylinders if possible, and the Regal had a borderline powerful six cylinder engine.  In any case, the car he gave me was in fairly beat up shape.   

“It was a nice car,” said the skeleton of my father.

It had been a very nice car.  When I was done scrubbing the black crud off the steering wheel, I….

“That’s a low blow,” said the skeleton.   

I never understood where that black gunk came from, I never knew you to be a grease monkey, never thought your hands were particularly dirty.   

“Move on, I assume you have a point here,” said the skeleton. 

The car cost me over a thousand dollars a year in repairs to keep on the road, a series of increasingly larger repairs, until I finally donated it to some charity a few years later.   

“Caveat emptor,” said the skeleton with a shrug, “nobody held a gun to your head and made you take the car, plus, you didn’t pay a penny for it, outside of the thousands in repairs.” 

OK, let’s just move on to Exhibit B– the couch and Lazy Boy. 

“Is there no limit to your pettiness?” said the skeleton.  “Is there no statute of limitation for these, apparently timeless, de minimis grievances of yours?” 

Mom was lamenting the fact that you had to throw out all of your beautiful furniture when you sold the house.  She couldn’t believe that nobody even wanted it as a donation.  There was a new pull-out couch in what used to be my bedroom, and a reclining chair that was in excellent shape.   

“This is exposition, I suppose, for the reader, I know very well what couch and Lazy-Boy you’re referring to,” said the skeleton. 

Astute observation.  Anyway, I spent several hot afternoons and evenings up in that filthy attic, removing grime encrusted articles, the things were literally blackened, and disposing of most of them.  You were very grateful for my help and urged me to take the new sofa-bed and recliner to my minimally furnished apartment.   You told me you’d arrange to have them trucked over. 

“And I did, those two Russian Jews Benjie recommended, and they brought the stuff right into your then empty living room,” said the skeleton.

Yes, and then handed me their bill, which I paid, a few hundred dollars, and a tip on top of that.

“You’d complain if you were hung with a new rope.  I always said that and it’s as true today as when you were a kid,” said the skeleton.   

I suppose so.