I enjoy a good joke. Never mind if it's at someone's expense.
Even mine.
I've been the butt of many jokes throughout my lifetime. They generally tend to center around a few specific topics:
1. I do not like to visit the doctor, take medicine, admit when I'm hurt, or admit when I'm sick.
2. I'm not very attentive. I only listen to stories that are either being told by me or about me.
3. I do not dress too nicely. The few clothes I have are stained or have small holes. I limit my wardrobe to three or four colors and most of my clothes look exactly the same.
4. I am not very macho.
5. I find humor in the troubles of others.
6. I talk far too loudly when making "private" comments about others.
7. I don't read e-mails.
Now, I'm not admitting that all, or even any, of these things are accurate. However, because they are referenced so often I'm sure there's at least a thread of truth to each. So when I hear someone say "Nice to see you got all dressed up today" or they impersonate me by looking up with a blank expression and saying "Huh?," I'm really not offended. It's funny.
Not too long ago my friend Tim was telling a story about attending a special banquet that our school district was holding in honor of our superintendent. He came back the next Monday talking about seeing people he hadn't spoken to in years. In the span of just a minute or two at the banquet he asked a few old acquaintances how they had been doing. One explained that his mother had recently died. The other told him that his sister had died just that morning. Tim looked really serious when telling this story, as though this had maybe affected him in some deep or meaningful way. Other people lowered their brow and tried to look empathetic for the unknown mourners. Not me. Striking a blow for #5 on the list above, all I could think to say at that moment was "Wow, I hope you stopped asking people how they were doing!"
I remember an old episode of The Simpsons where Homer has been sentenced to a driver training course because of some type of traffic violation. To scare him straight they show a film of tragic accidents and mangled bodies. After a few minutes of near uncontrollable laughter he responds "That's funny, because it's not me!"
I'm definitely beyond that level of insensitivity but I do notice that my favorite comedians are the ones that relentlessly make fun of others. No matter their color, sexual preference, religious affiliation, gender, athletic ability, intelligence, or any other descriptor that divides people into categories. I laugh every time Daniel Tosh jokes "We need to bring our troops home. They can have the war here. They deserve to get a good night sleep in their own beds, wake up and eat a big breakfast, and drive to war. We can have it in Nebraska. We don't even need that terrible state anyway. It's no wonder that state is full of storm chasers. Twenty minutes in Omaha and I'm praying for something to pick me up and carry me away. And yes, I tell that joke in Nebraska. But no one ever says anything because they're too busy sitting there stuffing their faces with fried mayonnaise balls."
I imagine the people of Nebraska are probably really nice. They may or may not eat fried mayonnaise. However, I'll allow myself to believe they do if it means a good laugh. Is that wrong?
Where is the line?
On Friday I told a friend at school that I hated his shirt. However, I tried to break it to him gently, "That's one ugly shirt!" I told another, when seeing a picture of him from years ago, that "you look a lot like a young Elton John." Neither comment was true but I doubt I'll ever say "That's a really cute shirt" or "Wow, you're a handsome guy!"
Before writing this I asked Tricia, "Have I ever made a joke that you found to be really insensitive and made you mad?" I didn't have to allow much think time.
"YES."
Although, when asked to present an example of one such joke she was unable to produce a single one.
"I can't think of one right now," she explained. "But there's been plenty. I remember getting mad."
So maybe there are lines that should not be crossed. Perhaps I, and others, should be more careful to spare the feelings of others - even at the expense of a well played one-liner.
Last Thursday I had dinner with some teacher friends. I went on and on about a guy I met recently who tells the types of jokes that are not only unfunny but uncomfortable. He talks almost without pause and rarely ever says anything that is remotely on-topic. He makes references that no one ever understands. He even made a presentation wearing a tank top. A tank top!
I, of course, had a little fun with all this. A little fun that I shared with my friends on Thursday night. A little fun that was supposed to elicit laughter.
"He has Asperger's," someone quickly explained. "He's autistic."
Talk about a joke that's not only not funny but uncomfortable. If there were a hole to crawl into I would have dove right into it. I drove home feeling terrible - sure that I could never again make a joke at anyone's expense. Basically, I felt I needed to stop being a jerk. Stop being a bully.
A few days have passed and I'm not so sure anymore. It may sound mean but I don't think it's necessary to stop teasing and making fun of each other. There's a lot of seriousness to life and jokes are much needed. Heck, even at funerals. But there is such thing as going too far. And that's what I had done - even if I didn't know or intend to.
I'm not sure what the exact moral is to this story but I imagine there's one somewhere. I'll continue to fumble around until I find it. But until then, careful what you say or do.
If it's the least bit awkward or incorrect I can almost guarantee it will not go unnoticed.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Friday, October 15, 2010
The Time Crunch
This past week really hasn't been one of my finest. For someone who would rather be in a classroom filled with kids than just about anywhere else in the world, today I was very happy that it was Friday. That's something I don't say real often. Something I don't ever say, really.
It has nothing to do with teaching or school, though. I'm just exhausted. Exhausted from a calendar threatening to overburden its tiny nail and pull lose from the wall. Exhausted from overextending myself with well-intentioned promises. Exhausted from being too exhausted to go to bed.
Tonight my mom told me that one of our friends said to her "Have you ever noticed that by Friday night Chris and Tricia look like they've just been through a war?" It's an obvious overstatement but the sentiment is true. By Friday night I barely have the energy to carry on a conversation at dinner. I often finish eating quickly and rest my head against the back of the chair in an attempt to "rest my eyes" the way my grandparents used to do in the middle of the afternoon.
We did this to ourselves, though. Last Spring we had made the decision that the kids would need to pick just one activity for the year. The plan was for the girls to pick something to do in the Fall (probably horse back riding) and for the boys to choose something in the Spring (most likely baseball). But then there were scouts.
"There aren't really that many meetings," we reasoned. "And besides, it's so much fun and they provide a lot of great opportunities for the kids to go camping and pick apples and ice skate and go to summer camp."
It's a slippery slope - this reasoning.
"Well," we said a few months later. "The Fall baseball season is shorter and the boys are both starting a new league in the Spring. Fall Ball is pretty relaxed and they'd probably benefit from the opportunity to get a little extra practice."
Uh, oh.
"Besides, they really love playing."
And they do, too. It's one thing to stand against the over-scheduling of our kids' lives but what about when those are the very activities they love the most?
"Ahhh Dad," the girls might argue. "You mean we have to quit horse back riding halfway through the year? The boys are playing in the Fall and the Spring!"
Hmmmm.
"Well," we'll reason again. "Horse riding is only once a week and we have a carpool so we really only have to take them and pick them up once every two weeks. That's not too bad. Maybe they could do the whole year."
Until a night when we have two baseball games, a scout meeting, and I don't get home from my graduate class until 7:15 to help.
Tricia and I have never had trouble saying no to the kids but suddenly it occurs to me that there's one area where maybe we have. It wasn't as though we were trying to spoil them. I'm not even sure we were spoiling them. We weren't filling their world with material possessions or succumbing to temper tantrums, whining, or crying.
We were just trying to provide them a happy childhood. We were keeping them active and away from the television. We were helping them build memories we would all one day sit around and fondly recollect.
Except that I've noticed these memories are slowly encroaching upon other memories we used to build. The ones of us sitting in the front yard together. Or playing a game together. Or having the energy to run around the house laughing together.
So maybe these choices we're making come with a consequence. Perhaps what we need to do is reevaluate what's most important to us as parents, and as a family, and reassess how we're choosing to spend our time. Because I've noticed we're not sitting in bed together reading books every night. And some things are far too important to give up.
It has nothing to do with teaching or school, though. I'm just exhausted. Exhausted from a calendar threatening to overburden its tiny nail and pull lose from the wall. Exhausted from overextending myself with well-intentioned promises. Exhausted from being too exhausted to go to bed.
Tonight my mom told me that one of our friends said to her "Have you ever noticed that by Friday night Chris and Tricia look like they've just been through a war?" It's an obvious overstatement but the sentiment is true. By Friday night I barely have the energy to carry on a conversation at dinner. I often finish eating quickly and rest my head against the back of the chair in an attempt to "rest my eyes" the way my grandparents used to do in the middle of the afternoon.
We did this to ourselves, though. Last Spring we had made the decision that the kids would need to pick just one activity for the year. The plan was for the girls to pick something to do in the Fall (probably horse back riding) and for the boys to choose something in the Spring (most likely baseball). But then there were scouts.
"There aren't really that many meetings," we reasoned. "And besides, it's so much fun and they provide a lot of great opportunities for the kids to go camping and pick apples and ice skate and go to summer camp."
It's a slippery slope - this reasoning.
"Well," we said a few months later. "The Fall baseball season is shorter and the boys are both starting a new league in the Spring. Fall Ball is pretty relaxed and they'd probably benefit from the opportunity to get a little extra practice."
Uh, oh.
"Besides, they really love playing."
And they do, too. It's one thing to stand against the over-scheduling of our kids' lives but what about when those are the very activities they love the most?
"Ahhh Dad," the girls might argue. "You mean we have to quit horse back riding halfway through the year? The boys are playing in the Fall and the Spring!"
Hmmmm.
"Well," we'll reason again. "Horse riding is only once a week and we have a carpool so we really only have to take them and pick them up once every two weeks. That's not too bad. Maybe they could do the whole year."
Until a night when we have two baseball games, a scout meeting, and I don't get home from my graduate class until 7:15 to help.
Tricia and I have never had trouble saying no to the kids but suddenly it occurs to me that there's one area where maybe we have. It wasn't as though we were trying to spoil them. I'm not even sure we were spoiling them. We weren't filling their world with material possessions or succumbing to temper tantrums, whining, or crying.
We were just trying to provide them a happy childhood. We were keeping them active and away from the television. We were helping them build memories we would all one day sit around and fondly recollect.
Except that I've noticed these memories are slowly encroaching upon other memories we used to build. The ones of us sitting in the front yard together. Or playing a game together. Or having the energy to run around the house laughing together.
So maybe these choices we're making come with a consequence. Perhaps what we need to do is reevaluate what's most important to us as parents, and as a family, and reassess how we're choosing to spend our time. Because I've noticed we're not sitting in bed together reading books every night. And some things are far too important to give up.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Fatherhood
The other morning the kids and I were pulling into school when out of nowhere Muluken asked, “Dad, were there toothbrushes when you were a kid?”
“Uhh….what?” I asked.
“Were there toothbrushes when you were little?”
I twisted up my face and playfully glared at him through the rearview mirror.
“Yes, Muluken,” I assured him. “There were toothbrushes when I was little.”
“Oh,” he said. “But how about dentists?”
Muluken knows how old I am. Of that I am positive. What I’m not so sure about, though, is how old he thinks thirty-six is. My dad was thirty-six years old when I was in the sixth grade. He seemed old to me then. Not grandfatherly-old, but worldly-wise-old. Like so many kids, I thought he knew everything. I assumed he had learned all there was to know about life and that being a father was as natural and easy for him as taking a jog around the block.
Yet now that it’s me I’ve learned that parenting is anything but natural. It sometimes shocks me that I’m old enough to even be a father. Certainly, I’m not worldly wise. In fact there are many times, when parenting, that I find myself simply making things up on the spot and then bluffing as though it’s the only logical answer or decision.
“Dad, can we play water guns at Stevens?” the kids will ask.
“Uhh……yeah, but only if you’re just getting each other wet. No pretending to kill one another.”
“What’s the difference?” they ask.
“Oh, there’s a difference all right!”
I think.
“Dad, can I get on the computer?” they ask.
“Sure but that means no movie later tonight,” I answer.
“The computer is the same as watching a movie?”
“Sure it is.”
As a kid I may have disagreed with these types of decisions but I always assumed they were rooted in some age-old wisdom. That some knowledge had been handed down many generations allowing my father to do and say what was right. Come to find out, though, he was probably just making it all up too.
That’s not to say he wasn’t a great role model. He was. My first lessons in fatherhood came from my dad. I learned the value of being patient. Only once - when I was out playing in the neighborhood with some friends and failed to make it back home before nightfall - can I ever remember him being angry with me. This made quite an impression. And while I can’t say I’m the world’s most patient father, I’m certainly a patient teacher.
I also learned the importance of making time for your children. Every night my dad came home tired and smelling of a tar plant. At least I would assume he was tired; but truthfully, he never showed it. He always seemed to be in good spirits and each night he took the time to play a game of catch with me in the yard. Or watch movies with me. Or wrestle around on the floor.
Not long before my dad died I graduated from college and started my career as a teacher. I loved everything about it from the very start and was lucky enough to teach that first year with a guy named Joe. He was ten years older than me and quickly became one of my very best friends and mentors. What I didn’t learn about being a father from my own dad I learned from Joe.
Joe and his wife were very much the type of parents - the type of family, really - that Tricia and I aspired to be even before the topic of children ever came up. Their kids ate really healthy, rarely ever watched television, didn’t play video games, and spent lots of time outside running around and playing. Their weekends were spent visiting the zoo, hiking, or playing at the park. They were very concerned about how their kids viewed the world and how they treated others. Their house was always a hub of commotion as they regularly had neighborhood kids running in and out of their door.
I’m sure there have been countless other influences. In the end, though, I guess we each create our own version of fatherhood. Like music there are many influences to be found - traces of those who have come before us - but we take each of those and make them our own. For better or worse.
While there are many moments where I fail to shine as a parent, I know that on the whole I do better than okay. I like to joke that other than parenting and teaching I’m chronically mediocre at most things in life. That’s okay, though, because if I were going to choose just two things to do well parenting and teaching would be my first choices, by a long shot.
Being a good father isn’t something kids necessarily brag about to their friends. They’re often more interested in tangible things. Things that are big, strong, fast, or valuable. It makes me wonder what my kids say about me to their friends. I’m already beginning to think that a few of them are starting to notice my limitations. Muluken was sharing a story with me not too long ago about how his swim goggles came to be broken.
“Jacob’s dad was throwing us into the pool and they broke,” he explained.
“Who’s Jacob?” I asked.
“He’s a friend I know from first grade that I sometimes see at the pool. His dad is a lot bigger than you.”
“Really?” I said.
“Yeah, and a lot stronger too,” he explained.
“Hmmm.”
“Yeah,” he went on. “He can throw us a lot higher in the air than you can.”
So maybe part of the spell is beginning to break. Perhaps the day is soon approaching when the kids will no longer think I know everything or can do anything. Maybe they’ll see I’m not really the world’s best Othello player or know everything there is to know about the proper baseball swing. But I hope they’ll know I’m a good father. Because thanks to some wonderful role models I’ve learned to make them feel special. And to love them.
There’s one other role model I didn’t mention. And while he might not be real he’s made no less an impact on me as a father. When I first read To Kill a Mockingbird in the seventh grade I fell in love with the children, Jem and Scout. When I read it again in high school I fell in love with mystery of Boo Radley and cried over the unjust death of TomRobinson. But when I read it a third time, as an adult, it was Atticus Finch that moved me. He was as ideal of a father as any imperfect man could be. He was kind, thoughtful, calm, loving, and fair. That’s not a bad start.
To end, I’m going to include some excerpts from one of my favorite chapters. Amidst all the elements and storylines of this monumental novel, I think it’s this small story of the rabid dog coming down the alley that sums up Atticus, and the kind of gentle and humble man we should all aspire to be.
-----------------------
Atticus was feeble: he was nearly fifty. When Jem and I asked him why he was so old, he said he got started late, which we felt reflected upon his abilities and manliness. He was much older than the parents of our school contemporaries, and there was nothing Jem or I could say about him when our classmates said, "My father -"
Jem was football crazy. Atticus was never too tired to play keep-away, but when Jem wanted to tackle him Atticus would say, "I'm too old for that, son."
Our father didn't do anything. He worked in an office, not in a drugstore. Atticus did not drive a dump-trunk for the county, he was not the sheriff, he did not farm, work in a garage, or do anything that could possibly arouse the admiration of anyone.
Besides that, he wore glasses. He was nearly blind in his left eye, and said left eyes were the tribal curse of the Finches. Whenever he wanted to see something well, he turned his head and looked from his right eye.
He did not do the things our schoolmates' fathers did: he never went hunting, he did not play poker or fish or drink or smoke. He sat in the living room and read.
---------
Tim Johnson (the rabid dog) reached the side street that ran in front of the Radley Place, and what remained of his poor mind made him pause and seem to consider which road he would take. He made a few hesitant steps and stopped in front of the Radly gate; then he tried to turn around, but was having difficulty.
Atticus said, "He's within range, Heck. You better get him now before he goes down the side street- Lord knows who's around the corner. Go inside, Cal."
Calpurnia opened the screen door, latched it behind her, then unlatched it and held onto the hook. She tried to block Jem and me with her body, but we looked out from beneath her arms.
"Take him, Mr. Finch." Mr. Tate handed the rifle to Atticus; Jem and I nearly fainted.
"Don't waste time, Heck," said Atticus. "Go on."
"Mr. Finch, this is a one-shot job."
Atticus shook his head vehemently; "Don't just stand there, Heck! He won't wait all day for you -"
"For God's sake, Mr. Finch, look where he is! Miss and you'll go straight into the Radley house! I can't shoot that well and you know it!"
"I haven't shot a gun in thirty years -"
Mr. Tate almost threw the rifle at Atticus. "I'd feel mighty comfortable if you did now," he said.
In a fog, Jem and I watched our father take the gun and walk out into the middle of the street. He walked quickly, but I thought he moved like an underwater swimmer: time had slowed to a nauseating crawl.
When Atticus raised his glasses Calpurnia murmered, "Sweet Jesus help him," and put her hands to her cheeks.
Atticus pushed his glasses to his forehead; they slipped down, and he dropped them in the street. In the silence, I heard them crack. Atticus rubbed his eyes and chin; we saw him blink hard.
In front of the Radley gate, Tim Johnson had made up what was left of his mind. He had finally turned himself around, to pursue his original course up our street. He made two steps forward, then stopped and raised his head. We saw his body go rigid.
With movements so swift they seemed simultaneous, Atticus's hand yanked a ball-tipped lever as he brought the gun to his shoulder.
The rifle cracked. Tim Johnson leaped, flopped over and crumpled on the sidewalk in a brown-and-white heap. He didn't know what hit him.
Mr. Tate jumped off the porch and ran to the Radley Place. He stopped in front of the dog, squatted, turned around and tapped his finger on his forehead above his left eye. "You were a little to the right, Mr. Finch," he called.
"Always was," answered Atticus.
-------------------
Miss Maudie grinned wickedly. "Well now, Miss Jean Louise," she said, "still think your father can't do anything? Still ashamed of him?"
"Nome," I said meekly.
"Forgot to tell you the other day that besides playing the Jew's Harp, Atticus Finch was the deadest shot in Maycomb County in his time."
"Dead shot..." echoed Jem.
"That's what I said, Jem Finch. Guess you'll change your tune now. The very idea, didn't you know his nickname was Ol' One-Shot when he was a boy? Why, down at the Landing when he was coming up, if he shot fifteen times and hit fourteen doves he'd complain about wasting ammunition."
"He never said anything about that," Jem muttered.
"Never said anything about it, did he?"
"No, ma'am."
"Wonder why he never goes huntin' now," I said.
"Maybe I can tell you," said Miss Maudie. "If your father's anthing, he's civilized in his heart. Marksmanship's a gift of God, a talent - oh, you have to practice to make it perfect, but shootin's different from playing the piano or the like. I think maybe he put his gun down when he realized that God had given him an unfair advantage over most living things. I guess he decided he wouldn't shoot till he had to, and he had to today."
"Looks like he'd be proud of it," I said.
"People in their right minds never take pride in their talents," said Miss Maudie.
-------------------
"Don't say anything about it, Scout," Jem said.
"What? I certainly am. Ain't everybody's daddy the deadest shot in Maycomb County."
Jem said, "I reckon if he'd wanted us to know it, he'da told us. If he was proud of it, he'da told us."
"Maybe it just slipped his mind," I said.
"Naw, Scout, it's something you wouldn't understand. Atticus is real old, but I wouldn't care if he couldn't do anything - I wouldn't care if he coudn't do a blessed thing."
Jem picked up a rock and threw it jubilantly at the carhouse. Running after it, he called back: "Atticus is a gentleman, just like me!"
“Uhh….what?” I asked.
“Were there toothbrushes when you were little?”
I twisted up my face and playfully glared at him through the rearview mirror.
“Yes, Muluken,” I assured him. “There were toothbrushes when I was little.”
“Oh,” he said. “But how about dentists?”
Muluken knows how old I am. Of that I am positive. What I’m not so sure about, though, is how old he thinks thirty-six is. My dad was thirty-six years old when I was in the sixth grade. He seemed old to me then. Not grandfatherly-old, but worldly-wise-old. Like so many kids, I thought he knew everything. I assumed he had learned all there was to know about life and that being a father was as natural and easy for him as taking a jog around the block.
Yet now that it’s me I’ve learned that parenting is anything but natural. It sometimes shocks me that I’m old enough to even be a father. Certainly, I’m not worldly wise. In fact there are many times, when parenting, that I find myself simply making things up on the spot and then bluffing as though it’s the only logical answer or decision.
“Dad, can we play water guns at Stevens?” the kids will ask.
“Uhh……yeah, but only if you’re just getting each other wet. No pretending to kill one another.”
“What’s the difference?” they ask.
“Oh, there’s a difference all right!”
I think.
“Dad, can I get on the computer?” they ask.
“Sure but that means no movie later tonight,” I answer.
“The computer is the same as watching a movie?”
“Sure it is.”
As a kid I may have disagreed with these types of decisions but I always assumed they were rooted in some age-old wisdom. That some knowledge had been handed down many generations allowing my father to do and say what was right. Come to find out, though, he was probably just making it all up too.
That’s not to say he wasn’t a great role model. He was. My first lessons in fatherhood came from my dad. I learned the value of being patient. Only once - when I was out playing in the neighborhood with some friends and failed to make it back home before nightfall - can I ever remember him being angry with me. This made quite an impression. And while I can’t say I’m the world’s most patient father, I’m certainly a patient teacher.
I also learned the importance of making time for your children. Every night my dad came home tired and smelling of a tar plant. At least I would assume he was tired; but truthfully, he never showed it. He always seemed to be in good spirits and each night he took the time to play a game of catch with me in the yard. Or watch movies with me. Or wrestle around on the floor.
Not long before my dad died I graduated from college and started my career as a teacher. I loved everything about it from the very start and was lucky enough to teach that first year with a guy named Joe. He was ten years older than me and quickly became one of my very best friends and mentors. What I didn’t learn about being a father from my own dad I learned from Joe.
Joe and his wife were very much the type of parents - the type of family, really - that Tricia and I aspired to be even before the topic of children ever came up. Their kids ate really healthy, rarely ever watched television, didn’t play video games, and spent lots of time outside running around and playing. Their weekends were spent visiting the zoo, hiking, or playing at the park. They were very concerned about how their kids viewed the world and how they treated others. Their house was always a hub of commotion as they regularly had neighborhood kids running in and out of their door.
I’m sure there have been countless other influences. In the end, though, I guess we each create our own version of fatherhood. Like music there are many influences to be found - traces of those who have come before us - but we take each of those and make them our own. For better or worse.
While there are many moments where I fail to shine as a parent, I know that on the whole I do better than okay. I like to joke that other than parenting and teaching I’m chronically mediocre at most things in life. That’s okay, though, because if I were going to choose just two things to do well parenting and teaching would be my first choices, by a long shot.
Being a good father isn’t something kids necessarily brag about to their friends. They’re often more interested in tangible things. Things that are big, strong, fast, or valuable. It makes me wonder what my kids say about me to their friends. I’m already beginning to think that a few of them are starting to notice my limitations. Muluken was sharing a story with me not too long ago about how his swim goggles came to be broken.
“Jacob’s dad was throwing us into the pool and they broke,” he explained.
“Who’s Jacob?” I asked.
“He’s a friend I know from first grade that I sometimes see at the pool. His dad is a lot bigger than you.”
“Really?” I said.
“Yeah, and a lot stronger too,” he explained.
“Hmmm.”
“Yeah,” he went on. “He can throw us a lot higher in the air than you can.”
So maybe part of the spell is beginning to break. Perhaps the day is soon approaching when the kids will no longer think I know everything or can do anything. Maybe they’ll see I’m not really the world’s best Othello player or know everything there is to know about the proper baseball swing. But I hope they’ll know I’m a good father. Because thanks to some wonderful role models I’ve learned to make them feel special. And to love them.
There’s one other role model I didn’t mention. And while he might not be real he’s made no less an impact on me as a father. When I first read To Kill a Mockingbird in the seventh grade I fell in love with the children, Jem and Scout. When I read it again in high school I fell in love with mystery of Boo Radley and cried over the unjust death of TomRobinson. But when I read it a third time, as an adult, it was Atticus Finch that moved me. He was as ideal of a father as any imperfect man could be. He was kind, thoughtful, calm, loving, and fair. That’s not a bad start.
To end, I’m going to include some excerpts from one of my favorite chapters. Amidst all the elements and storylines of this monumental novel, I think it’s this small story of the rabid dog coming down the alley that sums up Atticus, and the kind of gentle and humble man we should all aspire to be.
-----------------------
Atticus was feeble: he was nearly fifty. When Jem and I asked him why he was so old, he said he got started late, which we felt reflected upon his abilities and manliness. He was much older than the parents of our school contemporaries, and there was nothing Jem or I could say about him when our classmates said, "My father -"
Jem was football crazy. Atticus was never too tired to play keep-away, but when Jem wanted to tackle him Atticus would say, "I'm too old for that, son."
Our father didn't do anything. He worked in an office, not in a drugstore. Atticus did not drive a dump-trunk for the county, he was not the sheriff, he did not farm, work in a garage, or do anything that could possibly arouse the admiration of anyone.
Besides that, he wore glasses. He was nearly blind in his left eye, and said left eyes were the tribal curse of the Finches. Whenever he wanted to see something well, he turned his head and looked from his right eye.
He did not do the things our schoolmates' fathers did: he never went hunting, he did not play poker or fish or drink or smoke. He sat in the living room and read.
---------
Tim Johnson (the rabid dog) reached the side street that ran in front of the Radley Place, and what remained of his poor mind made him pause and seem to consider which road he would take. He made a few hesitant steps and stopped in front of the Radly gate; then he tried to turn around, but was having difficulty.
Atticus said, "He's within range, Heck. You better get him now before he goes down the side street- Lord knows who's around the corner. Go inside, Cal."
Calpurnia opened the screen door, latched it behind her, then unlatched it and held onto the hook. She tried to block Jem and me with her body, but we looked out from beneath her arms.
"Take him, Mr. Finch." Mr. Tate handed the rifle to Atticus; Jem and I nearly fainted.
"Don't waste time, Heck," said Atticus. "Go on."
"Mr. Finch, this is a one-shot job."
Atticus shook his head vehemently; "Don't just stand there, Heck! He won't wait all day for you -"
"For God's sake, Mr. Finch, look where he is! Miss and you'll go straight into the Radley house! I can't shoot that well and you know it!"
"I haven't shot a gun in thirty years -"
Mr. Tate almost threw the rifle at Atticus. "I'd feel mighty comfortable if you did now," he said.
In a fog, Jem and I watched our father take the gun and walk out into the middle of the street. He walked quickly, but I thought he moved like an underwater swimmer: time had slowed to a nauseating crawl.
When Atticus raised his glasses Calpurnia murmered, "Sweet Jesus help him," and put her hands to her cheeks.
Atticus pushed his glasses to his forehead; they slipped down, and he dropped them in the street. In the silence, I heard them crack. Atticus rubbed his eyes and chin; we saw him blink hard.
In front of the Radley gate, Tim Johnson had made up what was left of his mind. He had finally turned himself around, to pursue his original course up our street. He made two steps forward, then stopped and raised his head. We saw his body go rigid.
With movements so swift they seemed simultaneous, Atticus's hand yanked a ball-tipped lever as he brought the gun to his shoulder.
The rifle cracked. Tim Johnson leaped, flopped over and crumpled on the sidewalk in a brown-and-white heap. He didn't know what hit him.
Mr. Tate jumped off the porch and ran to the Radley Place. He stopped in front of the dog, squatted, turned around and tapped his finger on his forehead above his left eye. "You were a little to the right, Mr. Finch," he called.
"Always was," answered Atticus.
-------------------
Miss Maudie grinned wickedly. "Well now, Miss Jean Louise," she said, "still think your father can't do anything? Still ashamed of him?"
"Nome," I said meekly.
"Forgot to tell you the other day that besides playing the Jew's Harp, Atticus Finch was the deadest shot in Maycomb County in his time."
"Dead shot..." echoed Jem.
"That's what I said, Jem Finch. Guess you'll change your tune now. The very idea, didn't you know his nickname was Ol' One-Shot when he was a boy? Why, down at the Landing when he was coming up, if he shot fifteen times and hit fourteen doves he'd complain about wasting ammunition."
"He never said anything about that," Jem muttered.
"Never said anything about it, did he?"
"No, ma'am."
"Wonder why he never goes huntin' now," I said.
"Maybe I can tell you," said Miss Maudie. "If your father's anthing, he's civilized in his heart. Marksmanship's a gift of God, a talent - oh, you have to practice to make it perfect, but shootin's different from playing the piano or the like. I think maybe he put his gun down when he realized that God had given him an unfair advantage over most living things. I guess he decided he wouldn't shoot till he had to, and he had to today."
"Looks like he'd be proud of it," I said.
"People in their right minds never take pride in their talents," said Miss Maudie.
-------------------
"Don't say anything about it, Scout," Jem said.
"What? I certainly am. Ain't everybody's daddy the deadest shot in Maycomb County."
Jem said, "I reckon if he'd wanted us to know it, he'da told us. If he was proud of it, he'da told us."
"Maybe it just slipped his mind," I said.
"Naw, Scout, it's something you wouldn't understand. Atticus is real old, but I wouldn't care if he couldn't do anything - I wouldn't care if he coudn't do a blessed thing."
Jem picked up a rock and threw it jubilantly at the carhouse. Running after it, he called back: "Atticus is a gentleman, just like me!"
Thursday, September 30, 2010
The List - Part 2
A few weeks ago I shared our obsession with tuning in for just about any show that is based on a subjective rank ordering of music. Or movies. Or...
The whole idea is really pretty dumb other than that it creates a fun opportunity to get angry with society in large for their misguided and unfortunate opinions and tastes. Here is how the top 20 played out...
20. Marvin Gaye
19. U2
A band whose guitarist has the silliest name ever - The Edge. Do people really even call him that? "Uh, The Edge, I was wondering if you might pass the potatoes?" I once passed on a chance to see the Black Crowes, who are a very cool band despite not making this list, in a very small theater so that I could see U2 at Busch Stadium in downtown St. Louis during the Zoo TV tour. There were thousands of people, terrible acoustics, monstrously large TV screens on stage, and a "spontaneous" call to Washington DC so that Bono (another goofy name) could speak his mind to some random White House operator. Hoaky? Yes. Great concert? Definitely. And I was fortunate enough to catch the Black Crowes about five years later.
18. Pink Floyd
17. Queen
One of my all-time favorite bands. But I'd really like to know where "Bohemian Rhapsody" came from. I mean, how do you even start writing something like that? "So fellas, I was thinking maybe an operatic piece for this one!"
16. Madonna
15. The Beach Boys
14. Nirvana
I was shocked they were this high given they only had three or four albums. A few days later I went back and listened to "Nevermind" and was reminded that there's not a single song worth skipping. That's pretty impressive.
13. The Who
12. David Bowie
11. Bob Marley
10. Stevie Wonder
9. James Brown
I was really hoping they'd show that scene from "Rocky 4" and sure enough they did. However, they somehow failed to show the mug shot. That's a shame. I have a feeling James Brown just might be A BIT of a jerk.
8. Elvis Presley
7. Prince
I once had a music professor say that Prince was every bit as important in music history as Mozart. And this was coming from the mouth of someone who loved classical music and directed the university's operas. Am I missing something?
6. Jimi Hendrix
Another artist I think I like yet never really want to listen to. Outside of "Little Wing" and "The Wind Cries Mary" there aren't any other songs that would keep me from hitting skip.
5. Bob Dylan
4. The Rolling Stones
3. Led Zeppelin
2. Michael Jackson
1. The Beatles
How is it The Beatles were only together for ten years? They must have written about a bazillion songs each year!
So when the show was over I started playing around with the idea of my own subjective rankings. Here are a few I came up with...
Top Five Artists Left Off the Original List
5. The Byrds
4. Roy Orbison
3. Red Hot Chili Peppers
2.Woody Guthrie
1. Eric Clapton
How do you leave Eric Clapton off that list? Sure, Cream made it in somewhere but he's been inducted into the R&R Hall of Fame THREE times. That's crazy!
Top Five Favorite Movies
5. Wonder Boys
4. Bottle Rocket
3. Lone Star
2. Little Miss Sunshine
1. The Big Lebowski
"The Dude abides."
Bottom Five Movies
5. Simon Birch
4. Anything starring Pauly Shore
3. The Cutting Edge
2. With Honors
1. Even Cowgirls Get the Blues
Top Five Favorite Books (for adults)
5. On The Road
4. Even Cowgirls Get the Blues
3. Malcolm X
2. A Prayer for Owen Meany
1. To Kill a Mockingbird
It's no coincidence that two of my least favorite movies just happen to show up on my favorite book list.
Top Five Favorite Books (chapter books written for kids but still great for adults)
5. Love That Dog
4. Entire Harry Potter Series
3. Missing May
2. Ruby Holler
1. Charlotte's Web
Top Five Favorite Books (picture books written for kids but still great for adults)
5. Mr. George Baker
4. Letting Swift River Go
3. Roxaboxen
2. The Relatives Came
1. All the Places to Love
Top Ten Beatles Songs
10. When I'm Sixty Four
9. Norwegian Wood
8. I'm Only Sleeping
7. Come Together
6. In My Life
5. Strawberry Fields Forever
4. A Day in the Life
3. Something
2. Let It Be
1. Hey Jude
I tried to do a top 5 but couldn't make a number of the necessary cuts so I broadened it to the top 10.
The whole idea is really pretty dumb other than that it creates a fun opportunity to get angry with society in large for their misguided and unfortunate opinions and tastes. Here is how the top 20 played out...
20. Marvin Gaye
19. U2
A band whose guitarist has the silliest name ever - The Edge. Do people really even call him that? "Uh, The Edge, I was wondering if you might pass the potatoes?" I once passed on a chance to see the Black Crowes, who are a very cool band despite not making this list, in a very small theater so that I could see U2 at Busch Stadium in downtown St. Louis during the Zoo TV tour. There were thousands of people, terrible acoustics, monstrously large TV screens on stage, and a "spontaneous" call to Washington DC so that Bono (another goofy name) could speak his mind to some random White House operator. Hoaky? Yes. Great concert? Definitely. And I was fortunate enough to catch the Black Crowes about five years later.
18. Pink Floyd
17. Queen
One of my all-time favorite bands. But I'd really like to know where "Bohemian Rhapsody" came from. I mean, how do you even start writing something like that? "So fellas, I was thinking maybe an operatic piece for this one!"
16. Madonna
15. The Beach Boys
14. Nirvana
I was shocked they were this high given they only had three or four albums. A few days later I went back and listened to "Nevermind" and was reminded that there's not a single song worth skipping. That's pretty impressive.
13. The Who
12. David Bowie
11. Bob Marley
10. Stevie Wonder
9. James Brown
I was really hoping they'd show that scene from "Rocky 4" and sure enough they did. However, they somehow failed to show the mug shot. That's a shame. I have a feeling James Brown just might be A BIT of a jerk.
8. Elvis Presley
7. Prince
I once had a music professor say that Prince was every bit as important in music history as Mozart. And this was coming from the mouth of someone who loved classical music and directed the university's operas. Am I missing something?
6. Jimi Hendrix
Another artist I think I like yet never really want to listen to. Outside of "Little Wing" and "The Wind Cries Mary" there aren't any other songs that would keep me from hitting skip.
5. Bob Dylan
4. The Rolling Stones
3. Led Zeppelin
2. Michael Jackson
1. The Beatles
How is it The Beatles were only together for ten years? They must have written about a bazillion songs each year!
So when the show was over I started playing around with the idea of my own subjective rankings. Here are a few I came up with...
Top Five Artists Left Off the Original List
5. The Byrds
4. Roy Orbison
3. Red Hot Chili Peppers
2.Woody Guthrie
1. Eric Clapton
How do you leave Eric Clapton off that list? Sure, Cream made it in somewhere but he's been inducted into the R&R Hall of Fame THREE times. That's crazy!
Top Five Favorite Movies
5. Wonder Boys
4. Bottle Rocket
3. Lone Star
2. Little Miss Sunshine
1. The Big Lebowski
"The Dude abides."
Bottom Five Movies
5. Simon Birch
4. Anything starring Pauly Shore
3. The Cutting Edge
2. With Honors
1. Even Cowgirls Get the Blues
Top Five Favorite Books (for adults)
5. On The Road
4. Even Cowgirls Get the Blues
3. Malcolm X
2. A Prayer for Owen Meany
1. To Kill a Mockingbird
It's no coincidence that two of my least favorite movies just happen to show up on my favorite book list.
Top Five Favorite Books (chapter books written for kids but still great for adults)
5. Love That Dog
4. Entire Harry Potter Series
3. Missing May
2. Ruby Holler
1. Charlotte's Web
Top Five Favorite Books (picture books written for kids but still great for adults)
5. Mr. George Baker
4. Letting Swift River Go
3. Roxaboxen
2. The Relatives Came
1. All the Places to Love
Top Ten Beatles Songs
10. When I'm Sixty Four
9. Norwegian Wood
8. I'm Only Sleeping
7. Come Together
6. In My Life
5. Strawberry Fields Forever
4. A Day in the Life
3. Something
2. Let It Be
1. Hey Jude
I tried to do a top 5 but couldn't make a number of the necessary cuts so I broadened it to the top 10.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Swimming with Sharks
There are certain things in life that very few people, if any, ever seem to enjoy. Visiting the dentist. Receiving mail from the IRS. Seeing the doctor reach for a latex glove.These experiences are so universally terrible that they often become the subject of sarcastic statements such as: "Oh I'd love to spend our final week of vacation this year visiting your Aunt Edna May. I imagine it'll be about as much fun as a root canal!"
However, there's a certain camaraderie that comes from shared misery. Who doesn't like to playfully gripe with friends, or even strangers, about lengthy traffic jams or aggravating phone solicitations? If nothing else, these experiences pull us together as they provide a common foe.
I had the opportunity last night to enjoy one such experience. A visit to the car dealership. The lease on our van will soon expire and we were contacted by Dodgeland of Columbia to bring it in so that they could inspect it. I suspected they would want to check the mileage, look for excessive scratches or dents, and check to make certain the engine was running smoothly. While I can't say that this was necessarily how I wanted to spend the Friday night of what had been a long and exhausting week, the dealership didn't offer weekend appointments so I had little choice.
I can't say that it was the visit to the dealership, though, that had me bummed out. While I would have loved to have a relaxing night at home, I kind of enjoyed the prospect of meeting with the salesman to figure out whether we should purchase our leased van outright or look into buying a new one. Ugh, what kind of person enjoys doing business with a car salesman? Me, evidently.
It wasn't always this way. Our first few car purchases were from a Saturn dealership in St. Louis. Saturn offered a "no haggle" policy and had some of the friendliest salesmen you could ever imagine - each costumed in matching pairs of casual khakis and a polo shirt. When each of our "college" cars gave out (mine an old sputtering Pontiac hatchback and Tricia's a Ford Escort) we made an appointment with the very same salesman - Gary Tamme. We appreciated the opportunity to find a car without having to worry about being taken advantage of - or at least being taken any more advantage of than every other customer.
A few years passed and Harper was born. Not long afterward I quit my teaching gig to stay home and play Mr. Mom, also babysitting a friend's baby to help make ends meet. Then came Ainsley. Just a few months later we started the process of bringing Ty home and it quickly became obvious that our two little Saturns were no longer going to get it done. There were kids everywhere! Although the thought of driving a minivan was less than enticing it was, none-the-less, a necessity.
Since we didn't really have the money for a new van we searched the internet for a used one. After a few weeks of searching we found a couple we liked on Car Soup and drove out to see them. We opted for the Caravan and pretty much paid full asking price from the guy who was selling it. His asking price was pretty consistent with what the Kelly Blue Book said it was worth and we weren't much in the practice of negotiating deals anyway. It was probably a good thing we didn't have the money for a new van because a real salesman would have taken us for all we're worth.
A few years later we moved to Columbia and found ourselves in need of a car -again. I researched and researched and found out that buying a car at a dealership didn't actually have to be all that bad of an experience. In fact, it could be fun. And fair.
I found out how much the dealerships pay for the cars. I learned how much other car buyers here in South Carolina were paying on average for the same cars we were looking at. I read about the subtle scams that dealerships sometimes try to pull to get anywhere from a few extra hundred to a few extra thousand dollars. I printed all this out, slipped it into a folder, and visited the Honda dealership knowing, already, exactly which car I wanted and how much I would pay for it. Amazingly, it worked!
So heading over to Greystone Boulevard this past Friday I didn't feel too bad. I knew we had leverage (we could buy the leased van, look at a new Dodge, or completely walk away and look at other dealerships). I also knew that times are really bad for car sales and that the dealership would (I hope) be much more focused on pleasing the customer and moving cars than turning people away with underhanded practices.
The first thing I expected as I pulled in to the lot and stepped out of the van was to be smothered by a salesman before I even hit the sidewalk. However, after tidying up the van (stashing a slew of broken crayons, pencils, and toys under the seats) I hopped out of the van and noone was there to hassle me. I was shocked.
I made it inside the doors until finally someone came over and asked if I needed any help. It turned out to be the salesman, Eric, that I had an appointment with. Eric was an older African American guy who insisted on calling me "Mr. Chris" - think Morgan Freeman saying "Come on now Ms. Daisy. Let me drive you down to the Piggly Wiggly!" I wasn't real comfortable with the whole Mr. Chris thing but let it go on too long to comfortably protest.
Eric sat down with me and laid out all the financials of my options. He explained the fees associated with turning the van back in (a $500 fee for having replaced two tires and a $450 fee for giving it back), gave me the price for buying the van outright ($12,500), and offered to show me a new model that closely matched our current van. He spent about two minutes asking if I'd like to upgrade to video monitors or automatic sliding doors but quit rather quickly after I provided him my "I don't like cell phones, video games, or devices designed for lazy people" speech.
He showed me a new van that was exactly like ours except that it had a roof rack and Satellite radio. I saw on the sticker that it was $25, 540. However, there was also a side sticker with other charges that brought the price up to around $29,000. When we came back in to his office, which was no more of a barren cubicle with his nameplate sitting on a non-descript file cabinet, he went off to speak with his manager. I sat and wrote down everything he had said to me up to this point and recorded all the important figures. A little later he came back and explained that they were offering a $1500 rebate for returning customers as well as 0% financing on five year loans or 1.9% for six year loans. Careful never to share an actual sales price, he explained that our monthly payment would be very similar to our current lease payment.
I sat and thought about that. I had read that this was a common trick. Salesmen share monthly payments which allow them to add costs in by stretching out the term of your loan, thus keeping your payment low.
"Okay," I said. "I have a question."
"Shoot," he said.
"Is this monthly payment calculated on the $25,540 I saw on the sticker or the $29,000 based on the other costs on that side sticker? Because I've never had to pay the price on that side sticker before."
He paused and then started laughing really hard. It kind of took me by surprise because I wasn't sure if he was attempting to laugh with me or at me.
"That's a good question Mr. Chris," he bellowed. "A very good question! I'll be right back."
He went to the cubicle next door and I could overhear him recounting the conversation with his boss. Soon he came back and showed me that these monthly payments had been calculated based on a selling price of $24,040. This was the $25,540 on the original sticker minus the promised rebate. I couldn't believe it. He didn't even try to get me to purchase it for the higher listed price.
"You go on home and talk about it with your wife and call me in the morning to let me know what you want to do, either way," he said. "But the 0% financing ends on the 30th which is next Thursday so you probably want to make a decision soon."
I thanked him and drove back home. At first I felt as though I had really accomplished something. I knew we could buy the lease van and have it paid off in just a few years or get the new van, pay a very fair price, and feel comfortable that it would last us the next ten years - at which time we'd no longer need a van.
But then reality hit me. Wait a minute, I thought. I didn't negotiate anything. I was so surprised that he was offering a price lower than what I had anticipated that I gladly accepted his offer as fair. I was pretty sure I'd been fooled.
I came home and Tricia and I discussed it. We thought a new van made a lot of sense because we would save about $3000 in financing costs and purchase the "last minivan of our lives." I went back to the computer and researched some more. I found out that Dodge was the only dealership offering a financing incentive (worth thousands of dollars over five or six years) and that other dealerships didn't allow customers to use both a rebate AND financing incentive in combination. It was usually an either/or.
I searched to see how much people in our area pay for the minivan he showed me and it was $23, 522. This was about $500 less than what the deal I thought I was getting. My heart dropped a bit. I thought this was all going to be so easy.
The next morning he called as soon as he got into the office and I told him about the price difference. He told me he'd talk with his manager and after about two or three more calls he agreed to the lower price, the rebate, and the 0% financing. It all worked out.
Tricia and I went in on Saturday and left a little over an hour later with our new van. There was no last minute sales pitch for an extended warranty or undercoating or any of those other add ons. They just had us test drive the van, sign the papers, and walk out.
So perhaps there's hope. If buying a new car can be so pain free maybe we can begin to expect more from our universal adversaries. Maybe we can even expect a Christmas card this year from the IRS. With a fat check inside.
However, there's a certain camaraderie that comes from shared misery. Who doesn't like to playfully gripe with friends, or even strangers, about lengthy traffic jams or aggravating phone solicitations? If nothing else, these experiences pull us together as they provide a common foe.
I had the opportunity last night to enjoy one such experience. A visit to the car dealership. The lease on our van will soon expire and we were contacted by Dodgeland of Columbia to bring it in so that they could inspect it. I suspected they would want to check the mileage, look for excessive scratches or dents, and check to make certain the engine was running smoothly. While I can't say that this was necessarily how I wanted to spend the Friday night of what had been a long and exhausting week, the dealership didn't offer weekend appointments so I had little choice.
I can't say that it was the visit to the dealership, though, that had me bummed out. While I would have loved to have a relaxing night at home, I kind of enjoyed the prospect of meeting with the salesman to figure out whether we should purchase our leased van outright or look into buying a new one. Ugh, what kind of person enjoys doing business with a car salesman? Me, evidently.
It wasn't always this way. Our first few car purchases were from a Saturn dealership in St. Louis. Saturn offered a "no haggle" policy and had some of the friendliest salesmen you could ever imagine - each costumed in matching pairs of casual khakis and a polo shirt. When each of our "college" cars gave out (mine an old sputtering Pontiac hatchback and Tricia's a Ford Escort) we made an appointment with the very same salesman - Gary Tamme. We appreciated the opportunity to find a car without having to worry about being taken advantage of - or at least being taken any more advantage of than every other customer.
A few years passed and Harper was born. Not long afterward I quit my teaching gig to stay home and play Mr. Mom, also babysitting a friend's baby to help make ends meet. Then came Ainsley. Just a few months later we started the process of bringing Ty home and it quickly became obvious that our two little Saturns were no longer going to get it done. There were kids everywhere! Although the thought of driving a minivan was less than enticing it was, none-the-less, a necessity.
Since we didn't really have the money for a new van we searched the internet for a used one. After a few weeks of searching we found a couple we liked on Car Soup and drove out to see them. We opted for the Caravan and pretty much paid full asking price from the guy who was selling it. His asking price was pretty consistent with what the Kelly Blue Book said it was worth and we weren't much in the practice of negotiating deals anyway. It was probably a good thing we didn't have the money for a new van because a real salesman would have taken us for all we're worth.
A few years later we moved to Columbia and found ourselves in need of a car -again. I researched and researched and found out that buying a car at a dealership didn't actually have to be all that bad of an experience. In fact, it could be fun. And fair.
I found out how much the dealerships pay for the cars. I learned how much other car buyers here in South Carolina were paying on average for the same cars we were looking at. I read about the subtle scams that dealerships sometimes try to pull to get anywhere from a few extra hundred to a few extra thousand dollars. I printed all this out, slipped it into a folder, and visited the Honda dealership knowing, already, exactly which car I wanted and how much I would pay for it. Amazingly, it worked!
So heading over to Greystone Boulevard this past Friday I didn't feel too bad. I knew we had leverage (we could buy the leased van, look at a new Dodge, or completely walk away and look at other dealerships). I also knew that times are really bad for car sales and that the dealership would (I hope) be much more focused on pleasing the customer and moving cars than turning people away with underhanded practices.
The first thing I expected as I pulled in to the lot and stepped out of the van was to be smothered by a salesman before I even hit the sidewalk. However, after tidying up the van (stashing a slew of broken crayons, pencils, and toys under the seats) I hopped out of the van and noone was there to hassle me. I was shocked.
I made it inside the doors until finally someone came over and asked if I needed any help. It turned out to be the salesman, Eric, that I had an appointment with. Eric was an older African American guy who insisted on calling me "Mr. Chris" - think Morgan Freeman saying "Come on now Ms. Daisy. Let me drive you down to the Piggly Wiggly!" I wasn't real comfortable with the whole Mr. Chris thing but let it go on too long to comfortably protest.
Eric sat down with me and laid out all the financials of my options. He explained the fees associated with turning the van back in (a $500 fee for having replaced two tires and a $450 fee for giving it back), gave me the price for buying the van outright ($12,500), and offered to show me a new model that closely matched our current van. He spent about two minutes asking if I'd like to upgrade to video monitors or automatic sliding doors but quit rather quickly after I provided him my "I don't like cell phones, video games, or devices designed for lazy people" speech.
He showed me a new van that was exactly like ours except that it had a roof rack and Satellite radio. I saw on the sticker that it was $25, 540. However, there was also a side sticker with other charges that brought the price up to around $29,000. When we came back in to his office, which was no more of a barren cubicle with his nameplate sitting on a non-descript file cabinet, he went off to speak with his manager. I sat and wrote down everything he had said to me up to this point and recorded all the important figures. A little later he came back and explained that they were offering a $1500 rebate for returning customers as well as 0% financing on five year loans or 1.9% for six year loans. Careful never to share an actual sales price, he explained that our monthly payment would be very similar to our current lease payment.
I sat and thought about that. I had read that this was a common trick. Salesmen share monthly payments which allow them to add costs in by stretching out the term of your loan, thus keeping your payment low.
"Okay," I said. "I have a question."
"Shoot," he said.
"Is this monthly payment calculated on the $25,540 I saw on the sticker or the $29,000 based on the other costs on that side sticker? Because I've never had to pay the price on that side sticker before."
He paused and then started laughing really hard. It kind of took me by surprise because I wasn't sure if he was attempting to laugh with me or at me.
"That's a good question Mr. Chris," he bellowed. "A very good question! I'll be right back."
He went to the cubicle next door and I could overhear him recounting the conversation with his boss. Soon he came back and showed me that these monthly payments had been calculated based on a selling price of $24,040. This was the $25,540 on the original sticker minus the promised rebate. I couldn't believe it. He didn't even try to get me to purchase it for the higher listed price.
"You go on home and talk about it with your wife and call me in the morning to let me know what you want to do, either way," he said. "But the 0% financing ends on the 30th which is next Thursday so you probably want to make a decision soon."
I thanked him and drove back home. At first I felt as though I had really accomplished something. I knew we could buy the lease van and have it paid off in just a few years or get the new van, pay a very fair price, and feel comfortable that it would last us the next ten years - at which time we'd no longer need a van.
But then reality hit me. Wait a minute, I thought. I didn't negotiate anything. I was so surprised that he was offering a price lower than what I had anticipated that I gladly accepted his offer as fair. I was pretty sure I'd been fooled.
I came home and Tricia and I discussed it. We thought a new van made a lot of sense because we would save about $3000 in financing costs and purchase the "last minivan of our lives." I went back to the computer and researched some more. I found out that Dodge was the only dealership offering a financing incentive (worth thousands of dollars over five or six years) and that other dealerships didn't allow customers to use both a rebate AND financing incentive in combination. It was usually an either/or.
I searched to see how much people in our area pay for the minivan he showed me and it was $23, 522. This was about $500 less than what the deal I thought I was getting. My heart dropped a bit. I thought this was all going to be so easy.
The next morning he called as soon as he got into the office and I told him about the price difference. He told me he'd talk with his manager and after about two or three more calls he agreed to the lower price, the rebate, and the 0% financing. It all worked out.
Tricia and I went in on Saturday and left a little over an hour later with our new van. There was no last minute sales pitch for an extended warranty or undercoating or any of those other add ons. They just had us test drive the van, sign the papers, and walk out.
So perhaps there's hope. If buying a new car can be so pain free maybe we can begin to expect more from our universal adversaries. Maybe we can even expect a Christmas card this year from the IRS. With a fat check inside.
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