My father was a man who loved money. That is, he loved to save it. To his dying day he never experienced the joy of buying something frivolous just because he wanted it.
He grew up during The Depression when money was tight. His father made bad investments and liked to drink, so there was never any extra. His mother took in boarders to make ends meet.
As a result, he must have determined never to be in such a position. He was so frugal he squeaked. We never hired repair men to do the odd jobs that my father took on. Sometimes he didn’t know what he was doing -- like attempting for years to fix a leak in the roof. But most of the time he succeeded, often without spending a cent.
He was actually quite good at electrical work since he had an EE degree. We would save up all sorts of small jobs for him to do when he came to visit. Young Daniel followed him around watching and helping “Mapa” as he called him when he was little.
Sadly when my father died at the age of 86, he had been existing on 99-cent TV dinners for years and the plumbing in his house no longer worked. While his penchant for saving money was still alive and well, his will to fix things had expired.
My father’s frugality allowed us to enjoy spending his money after his death. I can just see him wince every time we call a repair man or buy something he would consider unnecessary.
I do miss him, especially on Father’s Day.