Making Cash Withdrawals…with My Dad

As a student, I would stop by my dad’s house during grueling study breaks to say hello. We would chat about how my college classes were going. Occasionally, my father would ask me to drive him to the bank. We would laugh and chitchat about college sports as we stood in the teller line, he would stroll up to the counter, make a transfer from his checking account to my checking account and then slowly push some cash the teller placed on the counter over to me.

At that point, my dad would proudly state that I was doing extremely well in school and on the brink of starting a successful career. The teller would usually grin and congratulate me on my academic success. I felt slightly embarrassed, blushed and smiled a bit before thanking the teller and cheerfully picking up the stack of cash my dad had pushed over to me on the counter. These bank trips were fun and hopeful.

That was sixteen years ago. I am now 43, overly educated but unemployed. Last week, I stopped my dad’s house to say hello. I was sitting at my dad’s house watching Price is Right with him as I often do now. He once again asked me to drive him to the bank.

We stood in line in silence, walked up to the counter, and my dad asked to transfer four hundred dollars to my account and withdraw a hundred dollars in cash. The teller was an older, well-dressed woman with bright red lipstick and silvery hair pulled up in an elegant bun.  She immediately greeted my dad by his first name and asked him how he has been lately. I started telling her my account number but she held up her hand to stop me.

“I know your account number. It is written in the notes. Your father is a very kind and generous man.” I smiled and nodded. (Awkward pause)

“He comes in to the bank frequently to transfer money….to your account.” (even more awkward pause).

I stretched out the uncomfortable and forced smile a little longer and nodded again. “Yeah….He is really great,” I muttered.

“So, here is the deposit from your father’s account to your account. How would you like the cash?”

I felt the entire bank go quiet and everyone turned their head to look at me. It was as if the smooth jazz music mix playing in the bank came to a screeching halt.  I felt everyone in the over air-conditioned bank stop talking to turn and look at the 43-year old daughter who was taking money from her father’s savings account.

“Uh, twenties is fine…Thanks.”