When my father pulled his skinny, tortoise shell-rimmed reading glasses from his shirt pocket two ink pens and a miniature philips head screwdriver fell onto the Mexican blanket placemat on the restaurant's table. My father grunted, repocketed his pens and screwdriver, and unwound the nylon cord from the center of the glasses - a form of lanyard that he had obviously fabricated himself by melting the nylon string to the plastic ear tabs of the glasses to allow them to hang from his neck as he worked. He put his glasses on and flipped the lanyard over his faded, blue ball cap that displayed a logo for "Derrick's Tree Trimming and Hauling, Inc." The lanyard didn't quite make it all the way over the top and sort of just rested near the button on the top of the ball cap.
"Fifty-one thirty plus tax, AND that doesn't even account for the tip!" My dad yelled looking at the check that he held close to his nose in efforts to see. " Fifty-one thirty! For what? What did you have, Karen?"
My dad looked over his glasses to my mother, who sat smoking a cigarette at the opposite end of the table, clearly annoyed. She responded with no words; rather, she tapped her wedding band on the side of her margarita glass and held up her two fingers to indicate that she had had two.
"At $4.30 each too, Karen!" My dad huffed. "Danny and I had the enchiladas, $12.95 each; and, wait, what'in'the'hell is this? What's a 'Steak and Shrimp-stuffed chile rellenos'?"
Only, my dad didn't quite say Steak and Shrimp-stuffed chile rellenos. It was more: 'Steak N'Shrimp-stuffed CHILD RELL-NO-ROS.' My mother and sister, Anne, laughed. This caught my dad's ear.
"Anne, did you like the shrimp?"
"Yes." My ten year old sister replied.
"I don't suppose you got an extra $16.80 you could loan your old dad, do ya?"
"No daddy" she said blushing.
My dad slowly pulled his glasses from his face and laid them upon the place mat. He pinched the bridge of his nose and flushed with anxiety. My father, a frugal man to every letter of the word, was always concerned about spending. We were not poor that I can recall; only, my father's money woes were rather self-induced. He was a blue-collar man, a hard-working man, a man who always thought that around every corner lay a financial pitfall. Eating out with my parents and little sister was really quite amusing.
"Steak and Shrimp Rell... Rell No... whatever. I can't even remember the last time I had shrimp; and I tell ya, it sure'as'hell wasn't when I was ten! Look," my dad sat back in his chair and pushed his ball cap to the back of his head to presumably cool his brow, "We all need to think: spending! The coming winter is going to be hard, everyone's going to have to pull his and her load, and we need to ensure we have enough reserve in the event our friend Murphy comes a'knocking!"
My dad pointed to each of us, one by one, at each single word: "comes," "a,'" and "knockin." It was always in the Fall wherein my father would initiate talks of such wintery peril. He was quick to warn us of the possibilities of intensifying heat costs, balding snow tires, and roofs collapsing on account of "unforeseen, freak snowstorms." My mother always rolled her eyes and then smiled at my sister and I. This, I found, always made my father a little more animated, but we liked to get him riled up.
My father slowly placed his two hands flat upon the table; he closed his eyes for a moment; and, he brought his hands together and interlocked his fingers. He lift then set his clenched hands down slowly. We all knew what he was going to say next; either a hypothetical situation of financial downfall or something starting with "when I was a kid..."
"I've said this before, but it's worth repeating... if something can go wrong, it will go wrong, and at the worst possible time too!..."
Okay, I was close.
"...That's Murphy's law, folks. Heck, I knew this guy up in Redding years back. He and his family could care less for what they spent their money on. They went out to dinner nearly every-damn-week, spent on this and on that! They had this old station wagon - green thing, ugly - but it was the only thing they had. Well, car breaks down, transmission or some such nonsense, and wham! No money!"
My father slammed his fist down on the table, nearly hitting the edge of his cleared plate but tipping over Anne's bottle of Mexican soda pop. He wasn't mad, but he did enjoy becoming animated, especially when we covered our mouths and giggled upon such episodes.
"Sorry, Anne," my father said, wiping up the small spill of orange soda with a handful of paper napkins, "Danny, Anne, you kids understand where old dad's coming from correct?"
Anne and I nodded in agreement.
"Good. You're good pals, good kids! Sometimes old dad just get a little nervous and fearful at the chance of falling short, understand?"
We nodded again, smiling a little less this time. My mother say quietly with her elbows on the table and her chin resting on her folded hands. She smiled beautifully at my father.
"Well, let's dig out the ole' wallet and see what we got to work with." Said my dad, smiling.
He reached behind him, and after thumbing through the various bills and repocketing his wallet, my father folded his glasses up and replaced them in his shirt pocket. He repositioned his hat and reformed the hat's bill with his hands. It was at this very moment that I first truly took note of how hard he must've worked... his hands were swollen and calloused; and, they were stained, despite his washing them in the restaurant's restroom before dinner. My sister and my mother sat speaking to one another, but I never took my eyes from my father. The years of struggling and saving were reflected in wrinkles that formed in the corners of his eyes and on his cheeks next to his ears. His nose was sun burnt, and the elbow of his shirt had a home-sewn patch on it. He smiled and sighed and placed a few bills upon the plastic tray that held the check.
I heard my mother say something about a "school break coming up," and I turned to listen in. When I did so my father slammed his fist on the table once again, only this time he laughed, and to each of us:
"Ah hell," he chuckled, "Who's up for a big ole' helping of some dessert...on me!?"
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