Dearest Rachel –
I think the meme was making the rounds before you had to go, so you might remember it. It was a simple snowclone script, starting with kids asking their school if they could be taught how to deal with their taxes, since this is information that would be necessary in their future adult life. I think the original version had the school responding like the pawn shop owners with “Best I can give you is… the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell,” or something relatively useless like that. Later versions would touch on somewhat more political topics such as the fifty-seven (or is that only for Heinz’ varieties? I swear, the number changes more often than the number of communists in Joe McCarthy’s list) genders or some mindrot like that.
Now, I understand that trying to teach even high schoolers how to do their taxes is probably beyond the ken of the public school system. The rules are byzantine, almost as if by design – there’s a reason it’s called the ‘tax code,’ because it’s all but meant to be indecipherable. Not to mention, any instruction a student might get in their freshman year would be obsolete by the time they graduate, since every administration changes the rules to a greater or lesser extent. Besides, far be it from an accountant like myself to argue my kind out of employment. But there are some things that kids could stand to be taught that they could use later on in life.
Just as an example, it would seem that Daniel was never instructed in how to write a check. I can recall being taught about minutia such as how to format an envelope, even as we learned how to write the formal business letter to put in it. You’d think a check would be included in the curriculum somewhere along the way.
Then again, maybe it’s the sort of thing that’s reckoned to be intuitive for anyone to figure out. After writing thousands of checks myself, it’s never occurred to me to question what goes where, or why. And the fact that I have written so many checks has meant that Daniel hasn’t had to up until now – not that he had any source of income (or funds in general) that would allow him to do so. Now that your estate has been sorted out, and he does have such a source, I’ve decided to teach him to pay his own bills; things like health insurance and income taxes. But that same amount of experience I have in making payment is what leads me to forget that he – like so many other people, I suppose – doesn’t know these conventions involved with writing a check, and would ask questions about the process that I neither know the answer to, nor would I have thought to ask about in the first place.
Now, to be fair, not everything is confusing, even to him. The line for the date is straightforward enough – and while he simply writes out the date in a numeric format (mm/dd/yyyy, as we do on this side of the pond) as opposed to my spelling it all out (such as March 23, 2023 – and to think, our twenty-sixth month apart almost went by without comment), I don’t see where this should pose any confusion. However, when I instruct him about writing the amount of the check, he gets puzzled. After first putting the number on the same line as that of the payee (thereby leading into a quick lesson about writing “VOID” on a check, making a note of it in the checkbook, and moving on to the next page), he puts the numeric amount in the little box to the right of the line. Then, I inform him about writing the amount in the line below that of the payee.
“Why do I have to do that? I just wrote the amount over here.”
It’s a question that stops me cold for a moment. I’ve never really thought about the ‘why’ with regard to filling out a check; it’s always just been a matter of ‘that’s how it’s done, son.’ But you know him, and you know me, honey; that’s never been a satisfactory answer for me to give to him, from either of our perspectives. And yet, I don’t have a satisfactory response – or at least, nothing that really seems sensible. The closest thing I can come up with is akin to double-verification, like how logins and passwords are often verified by having a person’s phone confirm their use of a new computer. But this is all being written on a single slip of paper, so the analogy isn’t perfect. And what if the number doesn’t agree with the words? So many questions that I never thought of asking; I just did what seemed to be required by rote.
On the other hand, he seemed to have bought the verification explanation, and continued to fill out each check as required. He did ask about the memo portion, and seemed relieved that it wasn’t a requirement that it be filled out. And after some prompting, he had his three checks written out, and all of his bills taken care of for at least another month (or in the case of his taxes, another quarter). I’m not sure he feels the same sense of relief of having them behind him that I do, but he’ll get there eventually, I’m sure.
But it still seems like something he ought to have been taught at some point in school. It’s the sort of thing that truly belongs in a class like home economics, before that term became synonymous with ‘cooking class,’ and thereby one attended almost exclusively by females. This, and balancing said checkbook, are things kids need to learn how to do regardless of gender (male, female or any of those fifty-five others. Or are there two hundred by now?).
Still, I shouldn’t complain; it gave me a moment to teach him myself, and over the next year or two, I can get him that much more comfortable with the process, so he can gradually handle more things on his own before I leave for a much more extended period of time. It’s an opportunity not all parents get (which is why I’d think it ought to be part of a school’s curriculum), so I need to be grateful for what chances I’m given.
Anyway, for the upcoming months, keep an eye on us, honey, and wish us luck; we’re going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 