Parents of Grandparents are Still Parents

I never imagined that when I became a grandparent myself, I would still have to turn to my parents occasionally for counsel. Nope. I thought that surely by then I would have life all figured out and be entrenched behind the "giving advice" side of the table. Wrong. For no matter what I learn, there is always that vacancy caused by something I haven't learned yet, and I have to call to ask. Now I don't mind asking, because it gives us a chance to talk and I love talking to them, but I'm just amazed that I still don't know everything they do. Somehow they are a few years ahead.

Take this year's income tax, for instance. We sold a rent house on installments last year, and the math looked daunting, so I just counted it as a rental and avoided the issue, but I knew that sooner or later, if the house stayed sold and didn't come back in another life as a repo, I would have to deal with the dreaded amortization schedule. I called Dad.

"What? You've been counting it as a rental? No, you don't want to do that at all. You'll be losing money on the deal. Don't you have a record of when he paid?"

"Well, yes, I have the bank deposits, so maybe I should just download an amortization schedule from the web..."

"If he paid every month and didn't skip any, you could, but with him being late, you have to figure it yourself."

"Figure it myself ?" My fear of math overwhelmed me and I blanched and collapsed quietly back into my chair. Fortunately, he couldn't see me through the phone so he just went confidently on.

"Here's the formula. Write it down. It's twelve percent interest. That's easy. Take the balance that he owes times point 12. Then divide that by 365. Then take that times the number of days since he last made a payment. That's the interest. Subtract that from whatever he paid and apply the rest to the principal."

It sounded a little complicated, but hey, I can follow a formula. So I did. Pencil and paper. In my little log book. Twelve times for twelve months. Find the interest for the year and the principal to report as capital gains. Plug it all into my computer tax program and voila! I ran the errors check, and was rewarded with a no errors message.

Thanks, Dad.

Last night when I called Mom to get the buyer's social security number, she told me that Dad had just saved a calf and its mother. Seems he went to check on them, found the cow in trouble, went back for a rope, pulled the calf and saved them both. I wasn't surprised.

Dad is 81 years old.

The phone rang. It was my son.

"Hey Mom, I forgot my music for the choir tonight and I have to conduct a number, so could you or Dad meet me halfway with it so I won't be late. It should be on the coffee table or on the piano there or somewhere in the front room."

"Sure. I'll bring it all. We'll meet at the usual gas station. See you in a bit."

I guess he's about thirty years behind me.

The Sunday Scribblings Prompt was "Family"