I told my dad we couldn’t assist pay for his trip to retire, but he just remarked, “Your presence is enough.” But when we went to the cottage, he gave my brother and me each a big box. There was nothing in mine. I smiled the whole time. Later that night, I checked my brother’s mail and found a cheque for $15,000.
I was sick to my stomach. I carefully put it back in the envelope and then back in my brother’s duffel bag. I wasn’t trying to steal anything. I had to see it for myself.
Dad told me the same thing he told Patrick: this weekend was just for recuperating and celebrating his retirement after 42 years of work. He worked as a plumber for most of his life and had to take care of two kids after their mother died. He didn’t really get a break. Everyone thought he should spend a few days in that cottage.
Still, I couldn’t help but feel a deep pang of something—jealousy? hurt? It might be both. Things had been hard for my family for a long time. My wife Rachel lost her job last winter, and I was working two shifts at the auto parts factory. Last month, we barely had enough money to pay the rent. That check may have made things a lot less stressful.
Patrick never had any big troubles, of course; he was always known as the “responsible one.” He always saved money, spent it carefully, and got raises on a regular basis. He and his wife lived in a good house, drove new automobiles, and sent their kids to private school. So he didn’t need the money.
The next morning, I sat on the porch with Dad. He drank his coffee like nothing was wrong, even though the lake sparkled and the birds sang. I wanted to talk about the envelopes. Why did Patrick get a gift and I didn’t? Did I mess up?
I said, “Are you getting enough sleep?” instead.
He shook his head.
I said, “Pretty good,” even though it wasn’t.
Later, Patrick came out, smiling, and said he would make breakfast. He joked about fishing and hiking, saying we should play cards as we used to when we were kids. This made me worry whether he knew that I hadn’t gained anything.
By Sunday morning, I was having a hard time enjoying the fishing, the food, or even the stories Dad told about his profession. When Rachel and I were finally alone in the kitchen, I took her aside.
“I think Dad gave Patrick $15,000,” I answered quietly. “I didn’t get anything.”
She looked at me and raised her eyebrows. “Are you sure?”
“I checked the check.” There was nothing in my envelope.
She sighed and put her hand on my arm. “Okay, but there could be more to it.” He might have something different in mind for you.
I wanted to believe that. But I didn’t really want to. Until the weekend was gone, Dad didn’t say anything else about the envelopes. He never let me be by myself. There was no reason given.
A week later, Patrick called. We hadn’t talked since the vacation. “Hey, I was wondering if Dad sent you a check too?”
My heart stopped. “What?”
He talked in a softer voice. “I asked that question because it seemed strange to me.” He wrote “This is a test” in little letters on the back of mine.
I paused.
“Is that a test?” I inquired.
“Yes.” And he hasn’t called me back since then.
I told Rachel that night, and she leaned back and grimaced. “Maybe he was testing you both.” He was putting both of you through tests to see what you could do.
I couldn’t stop thinking about that notion for days. I remembered Dad telling us to be honest, humble, and strong. He gave us both the same amount of money when we were teenagers and watched secretly as Patrick saved and I spent. He didn’t yell at me at that time. He remarked, “Your choices are telling me who you’re becoming.”
Now I was wondering if this envelope thing was another lesson he was attempting to teach me.
Three weeks later, Dad asked me to lunch. There were only two of us. We met in his usual diner, where the booths were greasy and the glasses were cracked. He didn’t spend any time.
He went on, his eyes calm, not angry, “I know you looked.”
I paused moving my fork halfway to my mouth. “I apologize. I absolutely wanted to know.
He nodded. “I thought so.” That’s why I didn’t close it.
My mouth got dry. “What was the test?”
He moaned, drank some coffee, and then leaned forward. “I gave Patrick that money to see if he would share it. It’s not about the check; it’s about the time. Talk about it. Talk about it. Find out if you got something too. Anything. Years ago, I told him that family is more important than money. He didn’t do it.
I sat back in disbelief.
“But what about me?” I asked. “What about me?”
He said, “You didn’t fail.” “You were hurt, but you didn’t try to get it. You didn’t make a big deal out of it. I know you’ve been holding a lot. That’s why I have something else for you.
He grabbed a manila envelope out of his coat pocket and slid it across the table. I carefully opened it, my hands shaking.
There was a deed in it.
I gazed at it for a long time and could hardly make out what it said. “Hey Dad, this is your home.”
He nodded. “Now it’s yours.” Paid off. I’m moving into the condo I bought last year. I didn’t tell anyone since I didn’t know how to break it. But you have three kids, and paying rent is hard for you. “This is your new start.”
My eyes filled with tears. “Why me?”
“Because you need it.” And because you performed your part without becoming angry. “Hey there, son.”
I couldn’t say anything. I just nodded and tried not to cry in that filthy booth.
The next month, we moved into Dad’s old house. The kids were really happy. There was a space for each of them. Rachel put tomatoes in the backyard. We weren’t simply getting by for the first time in years; we were living.
A few weeks later, Patrick called me and was quite upset.
“He gave you the house?” “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I told him everything, even the test, how Dad was keeping a tight eye on things, and what happened with the second package at the diner.
He stopped talking and then said, “I thought it was a present for me.” I didn’t think to ask.
“I know,” I said. “That’s the point.”
There was a long pause. “I guess I messed up, huh?”
I said, “Maybe.” “But it might not be too late.”
And Patrick did something I didn’t think he would do, which is fantastic for him. He wrote a cheque for $5,000 and gave it to Lydia, our sister, who lived in another state and was going through a divorce. I heard she cried when she got it.
Dad called me that night and said, “There might still be hope for him.”
We both laughed.
Things got better over time. Patrick came by more often. He brought fishing poles for the kids and helped fix the garage roof. He even commented, “You deserved the house” over beers one night. Someone had to wake me up.
I said, “We all need one sometimes.”
The empty envelope taught me more than the full one ever could. It taught me that being patient, showing up even when it’s hard, and being the kind of person who does the right thing without needing to be seen are all good things.
Dad never told us what to do. He learned from life.
I’m just glad I finally paid attention.
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