The Bank Card

My short story fiction will address the issues of older adults coming of age in the twenty first century. In short the old facing the challenges of the new.
Plastic," Dad mutters to himself, looking down at the small rectangular card he holds in his hands, "It’s plastic son." "Yes dad, and it’s the key to your checking account," the confused look on his face taking on a new dimension. My frustration, standing in front of the ATM machine trying to explain the operation of the card reaches a level I have become familiar with helping him. "Dad it’s simple, pay attention, take the card insert it into the slot and follow the instructions on the screen, see a little T.V." "Well, in my day,,," "Oh no dad, we’re not going there today, I’m to busy for that and I’ve heard that story a thousand times." Standing in the hot sun in front of the ATM outside the bank is not what I had planned on a Saturday afternoon trying to teach my dad on the formalities of his ATM card.

It all started with a phone call early this morning, dad received his ATM card from the band. Opening the envelope from the bank and struggling through the letter explaining the bank card attributes dad immediately calls me claiming confusion. An easy way out for him, to lazy to try to understand the letter he thought I would straighten him out. "Okay dad, tell you what," after I answered the phone call and dad explains the situation, "meet me at the bank and I’ll clear up the confusion for you, I‘ll be there in an hour." I’ve got to start checking my caller I.D. before I answer the phone, I think to myself.

My Saturday afternoon’s are usually reserved for my interests alone. Being a writer for a local newspaper, the sports section, I cover the little league games played on Saturday. I see no problem today with helping dad and still making it to my assignments. Looking around my apartment for something to wear, I’d better do my laundry soon, tomorrow comes to mind. The nice part of living down town everything I need or want is within walking distance, the bus is only needed for work for my daily commutes to the office. Looking at my watch while getting dressed, I’d better hurry I still have a twenty minute walk to the bank to meet dad.

Thinking a little further I realize that after the bank I can walk three blocks and be at the park where the ballgame is being played, perfect. Maybe with a little coaxing dad will join me, I know he likes baseball. Finally dressed I grab my keys from the counter and leave my apartment, I jog down the two flights of stairs and out the front door of my apartment building, the warm day greets me as I step out onto the sidewalk. Standing in front of the building the first thing that comes to mind, coffee to go, the little coffee shop on the corner will provide those needs. Walking toward the coffee shop thoughts of dad and his bank card dilemma come to mind. If he cooperates, this little lesson in banking transactions shouldn’t take to long. With that thought a dark cloud forms in my mind, his stubbornness has always won out turning a simple problem into a major production.

"Good morning Greg, what can I do for you on this beautiful day?" A little surprised by the greeting I just realized that I’m standing at the counter of the coffee shop. Boy, I must have been really lost in thought, I don’t even remember walking in here. "Fine, fine Phil, coffee please, just coffee, to go." I answer his request. "Busy today Greg," Phil asks? "Yea, meeting dad at the bank then to a baseball game at the park."

Phil shuttles off toward the large coffee urn located half way down the counter, my attention divided by thoughts of the ball game and the bank card. "Working today," Phil asks while handing the Styrofoam cup to me, "careful it’s a hot buddy," offering a concerned look. "The baseball game, it‘s little league, I’ll hand in a short article for the newspaper on the game, name a few names, the kids get a kick out of it, seeing their team mentioned in the newspaper, you know." "What’s up with your dad,’ Phil asked with concern?

"Oh, he received an ATM card from the bank, his first, and has no clue what to do with it, I told him I would meet him there and bring him up to speed at banking this afternoon, I’d better get going," looking at my watch, "it’s getting late." "Have a good day Greg, and take it easy with your old man this new technology throws me a curve ever now and then," Phil slides in the baseball term for my benefit and smiles. "Yea right, you don’t know my dad, his claim of ignorance to me is just a form of protest to changing times, he likes to hang on to the old ways, torturing me because of my youth I guess." Phil give me a nod and smile as I turn to leave. "I’ll stop in later and fill you in with my progress with dad, it’ll give you something to laugh about," as I walk out of the coffee shop I hear him laugh. Since moving into the neighborhood three years ago Phil and his coffee shop has come to my morning rescue with coffee many times, to the point of us becoming good friends, sharing the trials and tribulations with each other about our families. Phil usually on the receiving end more then me.

Back on the street shifting the hot cup of liquid from hand to hand to dissipate the heat, I start for the bank just a few blocks away, I hope he’s there when I get there I want to get to the park early to get a good seat for the game. On my way to the bank and my befuddled father my thoughts start to congeal, why can’t mom and dad join the rest of society, it seems that they’re deliberately holding onto the past? Writing checks and snail mail is dead all they would have to do is get a computer and get connected. A thunder clap goes off in my head, oh no, I don’t have the time to become a full time teacher for that project. My coffee half gone and half a block to go dad comes into view, he is easy to recognize in his ’60’s style clothes, standing in front of the ATM machine, at least he’s at the right place.

"Dad, hi, how are you doing?" I surprise him and his head jerks toward the sound of my voice. "Oh, hello Greg,,,, son I’m fine," dad looks back at the ATM in disgust. "I just don’t get it son, I’m completely lost." "Well dad that’s why I’m here, to help you get it figured out." "First things first dad where’s the letter you received from the bank?" "At home, why?" a confused look follows his answer. "Here is the card," he shows me in defense of what ever I’m going to blame him for forgetting at home. "What do you need that letter for anyway," he starts his offensive. "Well did you call and have the bank assign you a pin number." Again a confused look follows my question. "A what number, pen number, why do I need a number for a pen?" "No dad, a pin number," I spell pin for him and explain it’s a personnel identification number used by the bank to access his account.

"Well, I never had to have it before, I just walked into the bank gave them my bank book and they took care of it for me, you remember Cindy don’t you, she handled all that for me."

"Yea dad, you belonged to that bank every since you were a kid, I’m sure they know you by sight." "Dad, face it, you’re going to have to let go of the past, step into the twenty-first century, this is the way things are done today." "Tell you what, there will be time for this later if you would like to come to a baseball game with me, take it easy, enjoy the rest of the day, I’ll get you and mom straightened out on this bank business later." His confused look is replaced by a smile, "sounds like a good idea to me son, lets go." Following dad to his car I assure him that I will leave work a couple of hours early on Monday and go to the bank with him and get this matter straightened out, bring him into the twenty-first century of banking.

On our drive to the park, dad, no worse for the experience at the ATM machine breathes a sigh of relief, "it was such a relief to see you coming to my rescue, son" dad complimented me while pulling into the parking lot of the park. "That’s alright dad," I say with a smile, I’m always glad to step in when needed, makes me feel wanted." "With this new technology son, your mother and me need you a lot, you’ve bailed us out more then you know." dad gets the car parked and shuts off the engine, "Everything is changing son, right before my eyes, seems like what is new today is obsolete tomorrow, not like the good old days, nothing ever changed." "Dad, it’s just the way you perceive things around you, when you were my age you didn’t notice the change as much, busy with the responsibilities of work and family. Now that your retired you have more time to see the changes, I agree it’s a little scary but you’ll do fine." From the car dad and I watch the teams take to the field, "dad, let’s get going their starting the game," I nudge dad with my elbow and smile. A worried look on his face breaks to a slight smile, "I’m sure you’re right son, I’m sure you’re right."

"This is one thing that I hope they never change, sports," dad informs me while walking to the stands, "I love watching baseball just as it is, plain and simple, a ball and a bat and a beautiful Saturday afternoon." I let out a mild laugh, "dad, we got to sit down and have a long talk someday about inter-active video games, you’re still lost in the past somewhere," turning my head toward him and catching that same confused look he had on his face at the bank. "Or not."