Today’s humiliation is brought to you by the number seven

My dad had a stroke several years ago. I mention this so when I tell you this story it will have context and you won’t think my dad is as crazy as I am.

I took him out to lunch on one of my days off this week. Lunch out always runs into a bunch of errands that he needs to run. We went to the library and to get his glasses fixed.

“Stop by the bank,” he said. “I need some cash.”

No problem. I found a bank branch along our errand route and pulled into the parking lot.

“Give me your ATM card and I’ll get it for you.” I extended my hand for the rectangle of plastic. “How much do you want? Twenty dollars?”

“Oh, no. I don’t need that much,” he said.

“Well that’s the smallest denomination the ATM has.”

“I only want seven dollars.”

SEVEN DOLLARS.

I held back my whimpers as I held the door open for him to shuffle inside.

When I saw the line, the line we were about to get in for seven freakin’ dollars, I said “I’ll give you seven dollars. In fact, I’ll give you ten. Three extra for agreeing to leave.” I knew this wouldn’t work but I gave it a shot because hope springs eternal and all.

I already knew what he was going to say – “I don’t want your seven dollars, I want my seven dollars. I have my own money.”

We waited for over twenty minutes to get two singles and a five-dollar bill.

I’m always afraid when I take him into the bank and take over the transaction for him that the teller will be certain that I’m coercing him into giving me his money. You hear these stories all the time – unscrupulous children and confused parents.

Not this time. When I told her he wanted to withdraw seven dollars her look definitely wasn’t suspicious.

I appreciate her waiting to laugh until we left the window.