'Twas the night before Christmas...

I drove to my mom's house this morning. I've already gone through the mail that arrived for me since Thanksgiving and the newspaper comics pages she saved for me. There's no need to wrap presents, as I have just two household items for her, and she already told me she'll write a check. (However, in the spirit of the holiday, she won't tell me how much it's for.) We don't even have the 3' tall artificial tree put up this year. There's no point in me dragging it up from the basement for a single day's use. It will be a meager Christmas, but neither of us needs anythine more to clutter our homes anyway.

My mom has gradually attacked the things (for lack of a better word) that have accumulated in her and my dad's lifetimes. It might surprise some people that getting rid of my dad's old clothes was the first thing she did, but my mom is practical above almost all other things. My goal for this trip is either the loft (my dad's office), the basement, or the garage.

My mom uncovered a file with my dad's hire letter from the Radio Corporation of America (better known as RCA), dated February 16, 1960. I've tried telling this story to my friends, but I can never remember the figure my dad said; now I have written proof. The offer letter is dated a month before he graduated as valedictorian of his class at the Milwaukee School of Engineering. Yes, they already wanted him that much. He was the highest-paid graduate of his class; he would earn $585 a month. That's $7,020 per year. That's $3.375 per hour. (Can you say "inflation"?)