Bank on it

 

There's no getting around it: Donald Trump is still very much in the public eye. He's like that piece of gum that gets stuck on your shoe and never goes away entirely, no matter how many times you scuff your foot on the carpet as you shout obscenities.

And last week, there he was again, in the form of Mom's Trump check. On the things to do list, after "get pants hemmed" and "return makeup to Target," was "cash Trump check," as if the former president himself had made that check out to her with a Sharpie. 

They call it stimulus, though some pundits claim it's more disaster relief than stimulus. Maybe so, but my mom is a big saver, and far from needing relief, she isn't likely to stimulate the economy much either, beyond the nail salon and the dollar store. 

Those checks may be Trump's lasting legacy, unless of course you count violent insurrection. But hey, rather than get political, I'll just say he forced me to wait in a bank drive-thru lane so mom could deposit the check, minus some spending money. I haven't been to the bank in ages. I don't think my adult sons have ever stepped into one. But for my mom, bank trips have been the source of pride, no matter how many times the bank changed names.

Decades ago, when she was raising five children on one salary, she still  managed to save, marching with her passbook to her favorite financial institution to deposit, say, $5, maybe $10. This wasn't Trump money. These were dollars culled from whatever was left of my dad's check, which he faithfully turned over to my mom every week. After the bills were paid, there wasn't much left to save, but she did, resulting in a nice nest egg and the current good fortune of not needing a stimulus check.  

My mother came of age during the Depression and the war years. Her parents often struggled financially. So they instilled in my mother the determination to "put a little away every week." In spite of some depravation, my mother likes to say she was born with a silver spoon in her mouth. If that's the case, then I may as well have an entire place setting balanced on my jaw.

So the trip to the bank was no biggie. And while no one has passbooks anymore and you can deposit a check with just your phone and the ether, Mom likes the feel of the bills. It's a habit, and I'm guessing a point of pride.

First stop after the bank? The diner. A cup of coffee and a bowl of soup can be stimulating, too.




                 


  

    






 

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