Adoption Series: Ledger
I meant to make him feel bad.
And I’ve felt guilty about it ever since.
I was twenty-one and walking as fast as possible out of our wedding reception in the parish hall where Judy and I had cut the cake and sipped coffee with our guests. Wayne, my best man, had tugged my sleeve, letting me know I needed to change for departure and the rice-throwing as we exited the church. He’d parked my car on the sidewalk, ready to roll.
I was beyond ready to be on my way into my grown-up life, free of parents and all that had kept me tied to childhood.
Exiting the reception, Dad was standing next to the table in the hallway with the small display of pamphlets and handouts about the church and its activities.
I almost didn’t see him; I was so intent on getting to the men’s room to change from my rented tux into my travel clothes. The shirt collar had been chaffing my neck. I’d managed to remove the bow tie the moment I’d gotten the word it was time to leave. Now, I found the collar button impossible. I needed a mirror to see why it was so stubborn.
With my frantic tugging at the abrasive collar, I didn’t see Dad, but he called my name, “Ted, stop a moment. I want to give you the wedding present from your mother and I.”
Not wanting to stop, just wanting to get the collar off, and with it this chapter of my life gone, done and over. Desperate for my new life to begin, I hesitated a moment before stopping. But stop I did, and I turned and looked at him.
Dad was a good half a foot shorter than me at five foot five. His stocky body had grown heavy, arms short but still powerful. Face red, and eyes, through gold-plated wire-rimmed glasses, were puffy.
He was holding his little black book. He called it the ledger. It was where he kept all the sums he felt were extra, beyond the costs he felt obligated to pay under the terms of my adoption.
He and my mother were proud that they had not included the costs of straightening my teeth in the ledger. Their contribution to my good looks was often mentioned
The ledger included the cost of art school, my car and related expenses, any clothing not from Sears, and entertainment not considered educational. It was a book I dreaded but had learned to ignore, knowing he hated it that I only paid attention to his shame-inducing ledger when forced to.
Guilt and shame that’s what that ledger held for me. I could never make enough money in summers or part-time jobs to cover all of my expenses. He intended his ledger to show me how to conduct my financial life by example. He thought of it as a teaching document. I knew it was grossly unfair. It was actually a tool to remind me that I wasn’t making enough money and, worse, spending too much.
As long as l lived under his roof and ate his food, I was subject to his rules about money. And his rules were that I had to cover all that was considered an extra expense. And shame was the payment required when I didn’t have the money to pay and had to ask him for help.
Once I’d stopped my escape and he could see he had my attention he held up the ledger and said, with what I knew was pride, “Your mother and I, with your successful marriage, are wishing you well by canceling all your debt.”
I looked at him, knowing his power over me was over, and without a word, I turned on my heel and walked down the hall, the heels of my rented shoes striking the terrazzo floor with a determination to move on as fast as possible but to not seem like I was running away, which I certainly was.
I could feel his eyes on my back as I walked past the stairs to the Sunday school rooms above and the basketball court below, past the church office, and turned the corner into the hall, now out of sight, and into the men’s room with its mirrors over the sinks.
Now, I could see how that reluctant button was attached and release my neck from the abrasion. Wayne came in a moment later to get my tux for the return and asked, “What’s with your dad? He was crying in the hall.”
Right on cue, I felt the guilt at what I’d done but didn’t want Wayne to know I’d made dad cry on my wedding day. So, I said, “he gets that way sometimes.” Waving it off but laying the foundation for the shame, I still feel, despite how awful, how absurd the whole experience of being raised like an extraordinary expense item in an accounting ledger really was.
