As some of you may recall, I lost both my parents in recent months. My mom died last September, and my father in December. They were 93 and 92 years old, respectively, and both died very peacefully in their own home after living many, many years, which is really all of us could hope for.
My siblings and I cleared out all their belongings, from everything as big to a bed to a small as a scrap of paper (of which there were thousands). One item in particular is something I wanted to share:
It’s a loan for $5,200 that my dad took out from his employer in order to buy me a computer. Specifically, the computer shown below, which cost, in inflation-adjusted terms, nearly $17,000. In other words, my Dad borrowed the equivalent of 10% of his gross salary just to be able to buy me this machine (which obviously is probably about 1/1000th as powerful as a low-end cell phone these days).
To be clear, my Dad didn’t just “Gift” me a computer. Indeed, over my entire 18 years of childhood, the most extravagant gift they ever gave me was a $700 scooter (and I just about died of shock when I got it). Everything else I paid back, with interest.
All the same, I felt some shame and guilty when I saw this artifact. I think as a kid I just assumed Dad had a fairly infinite amount of money, so taking a loan from “The Bank of Dad” was harmless. It turns out I was completely wrong. He actually had to go to his employer and request it, because he didn’t have the money. And, of course, he never hinted at having to do this. He probably didn’t want his boy to know that he needed to even do so.
As parents, collectively, we make sacrifices all the time for our children. I certainly have, and I think any decent parent will do anything in their power to help their child, even if it means hardship, and even hardship in the extreme. Perhaps one day my children will discover some morsel of information that shows them something that I did in their behalf that they would consider extraordinary. I would hope, at least, that they would believe I tried my best for them.
I still feel bad, though. 1983 was a simpler, more innocent time than 2024, and I really miss those days. In many ways, 1983 was the best year of my entire life. I guess my Dad probably wouldn’t say the same for himself, but I’m at least grateful to him for helping me when I needed it, even if he did have to go on bended knee to a company in order to make it happen.
