I’m crazy about this dude.
Anyone who knows me would tell you that. However, crazy aside, I also
admit to periodically wanting to throttle him, as did our poor mom after
another one of my brother’s escapades.
With David, it is not a matter of ‘if’ there will be another escapade,
it is a matter of ‘when.’
In his favor, my brother is sweet, funny, curious, active,
talented, and he is remarkably resourceful. Credit the television- double edged
sword that it is – for that ability. On
the minus side, he believes reality is what he says it is and that what is
‘right’ is what he wants. When
something is amiss (or goes missing), fair or not, the first thing I think of
is what David might have had to do with it. His reputation is not undeserved.
So when I arrive at his group home to pick him up for dinner
on Friday night, and one of the staff says, “I need to talk to you about David,”
my insides go flip-flop. Nothing good
ever follows this kind of greeting. She continues.
“David presented a $50 Visa gift card for his lunch at workshop today.” Flip-flop.
“We wondered if you knew he had it.” This is an issue because gift cards and
cash exceeding a certain amount are supposed to be kept locked in the office
for safekeeping. She goes on to tell me
that she had tried to get him to give it to her to lock away. He had gotten agitated
and refused. “Is mine,” he told her.
My mind whirls. My brother and I have a routine. When he
gets cash or gift cards, usually to Walmart or Target, for a birthday or
Christmas, he immediately hands them over to me. “Here, boss,” he jokes with me,
willingly surrendering his loot. I keep his
gifts in a special pocket of my wallet for when we’re out shopping or having
fun on vacation. I purposefully don’t
leave them in the care of his group home staff because then we lose our ability
to be spontaneous.
There is no way in hell that I have overlooked his receipt
of a $50 gift card. However, this
incoming information has potentially solved a mystery that I’ve been pondering
for a few weeks. I believe that this
gift card is the same one that I had seen on the office desk of our elderly
aunt and uncle who moved from their farm home to assisted living in October. I still stay at the farm when I’m in town and I’ve
spent quite a bit of time in that office looking for various records. During one of my searches, I had noted the
presence of a $50 Visa gift card on top of a pile of old calendars and sticky
notes. I remember wondering briefly whether
they would ever get to spend it and then I forgot about it. That is, until a few weeks later, when I was
in the office looking for something, and noticed that the gift card was missing.
I looked around some more, and when I
still didn’t see it, I wondered whether I’d imagined its existence.
I did think about
my brother when I noticed it wasn’t there. Experience has taught me that behind
many missing items stands David. I had had my brother with me at the house a
few times in the fall, so there had been opportunity. He had been in the office
with me, too, looking at my uncle’s extensive hat collection that adorns the
walls. But no – I decided. David is primarily interested in their DVD and video
collection, and most of the time when we are there, he is closely investigating
all their movies. On occasion when he has especially coveted one of them, I
have let him borrow it to watch at home. He always has these borrowed objects
in a small pile, ready to return the next time I come. So I let him off the
hook on the gift card.
I had just about talked myself into believing that I had
made up the card’s existence, when the fact that my brother had flashed a Visa
gift card to buy his lunch that day was brought to my attention. This did not make me very happy. I was going
to have to deal with this. My brother, when confronted with wrong-doing, can
become belligerent. He also lies when he’s
afraid he’s in trouble. Recall that
reality is what he says it is. I really did not want to start my time with him
on a negative note.
“OK,” I say, “I’ll get to the bottom of it.” I walk down the
short hall to his room. Happy to see each other, we wrap ourselves in a big
bear hug. I ask him if he is hungry and whether he is ready for a great dinner
out. We make about 30 more seconds of small talk, and I can wait no longer. “What’s
this I hear, Dave, about you having a $50 Visa gift card today at workshop?”
His eyes dart side to side. I brace myself for a lie. “Yes,”
he says, setting his jaw in that determined way I know so well. “Is MY Visa
card.”
“It can’t be yours,”
I say.
“I buy my lunch,” says he.
“I know you bought your lunch. Where. did. you. get. the.
gift. card?” I lean into him and put my
face very close to his. “David,” I say quietly, gazing directly into his little
blue eyes. “Tell me the truth, please. Don’t lie.”
He does a reasonable imitation of a teenager’s tooth suck,
and hesitates. Finally, he says, “My aunt’s house.”
I refrain from shouting BINGO. “You took the Visa gift card
from Aunt B’s house?”
He scowls, then stammers, “I… I borrow
it.”
I want to laugh. “David,” I say, “You can’t borrow somebody’s gift card. Once you
spend it, it’s gone, there’s nothing to give back. It’s not like borrowing a
DVD.”
“Oh man,” he says, rolling his eyes, looking pained. “Want the gift card.”
I look at my watch. We have to leave now to be on time for
our dinner reservation. “We’ll talk more later,” I say, “but for now let’s head
to the restaurant so we aren’t late for dinner.”
In the car, my brother is quiet. I am stunned into silence by
this unexpected truth-telling. After a moment,
he says, “OK. I give the card to you. Is not mine. Is my aunt’s.”
This is actually a fairly momentous occasion. My brother has
not lied to me. He has given himself up without a standoff. I need to
acknowledge this. I look over at him. “I
have to tell you David, how proud and happy I am that you told me the truth
about the gift card. That was very brave of you.”
“You happy?” he asks. I repeat not only how happy I am, but
add for good measure, “Mom would be very happy, too.”
Then I ask him if there was something in particular that he
wanted to buy with the gift card. I don’t know whether he’s wanting something
he thinks I won’t get him, or if it feels “grown-up” to have a Visa card in his
wallet, or what’s going on in that creative brain of his. He takes a stab, “My
dvds,” he says. This makes no sense. This guy just got about 20 new dvds for
Christmas plus it’s a rare weekend when I’m there that I don’t buy him one. He
is in no way deprived. I remind him all
of this.
Then I say, “You know, you have to pay for gift cards…. it’s
not like free money, David.”
Pause. “I didn’t know that,” he says.
“Look, if you really want to have a Visa gift card, when we
go on vacation, we’ll turn some of your money from the bank into a gift card
and you can use it when you buy souvenirs and stuff…. how would that be?”
He smiles at me. “That be fine,” he says. And pats my arm.
