Mr. Sandig wasn’t nervous at all. He smiled benevolently at my father as he said, “But Ron, thirty-five dollars a month is only about eight dollars a week. You are still a young man, and fortunately this modest amount of saving will ensure that you and Brenda will have a comfortable retirement.” Shifting his beaming gaze to my mother he continued “Ron’s employment pension will be adequate, God willing, if he still has that job, and if you’re both healthy. Meanwhile you, Brenda, have no benefits at your workplace, and you really do need to begin your savings plan now while you’re young.” Turning back to Dad, he pressed on “And I will have the pleasure of sitting here in 30 years’ time, presenting you with your first cheque.”

“But thirty five dollars! Bloody ‘ell, where are we supposed to find thirty five bloody dollars a month?” The vein on Dad’s head was huge now, and he was trying not to yell. Mom’s eyes flitted to him briefly, then back to Mr. Sandig’s calm face. He was a kind man who wore nice suits, so you had to be on your best behavior when people like him came in the house. That included Dad, and he struggled to hold his temper in check and keep his swearwords to a minimum. “Kurt, we just haven’t got it. We can’t afford it. There’s no overtime at the plant, and we never have enough to go around as it is!” Pointing his thumb at my mother on his right, he carried on “She dun’t make much, and the car’s on the blink. Kids always need clothes and shoes. You can’t squeeze blood from a stone!” Turning now to face Mom, he repeated, louder “You can’t! You just bloody can’t!”

Mom moved her head a couple of inches away from Dad’s blast, concentrating on the ashtray as she stubbed out her cigarette. She was making quite a project of putting out that smoke, and the Old Man was getting ready to start yelling again. Finally she looked up at him and said “We can cut back on cigarettes, and we can use powdered milk.” Turning to Kurt she said “Yes, we’ll sign the papers. But it’s still our money, right? If we need it, we can get at it in an emergency?”

“Yes” said Kurt, “But it is intended to be for your old age. You should only think of touching it in a really dire circumstance.”

Now it was Dad’s turn to light a cigarette, and I got up to open windows. (I often wonder how we all survived in those little houses full of smoke!) Speaking to the ceiling he says sarcastically “Oh bloody fantastic! Powdered milk in me bloody coffee! Havin’ to go back to rollin’ me own fags again!” He looked down at his tailor-made cigarette with disgust on his face and shook his head. The only sound was the pen as my mom signed both copies of the contract, then Kurt slid them across the table to Dad.

Handing the pen over to my father, Mr. Sandig said “Remember Ron. I’ll be here to give you that first cheque.” The Old Man took the pen and signed the papers. He shoved them back without looking up, and Kurt slid them into his briefcase.

Mom and Dad weathered the financial storms without having to dip into the precious RRSP money. Eventually they both quit smoking, and sure enough, when Dad was sixty-two and Mom sixty, they retired to Ridgeway. Kurt Sandig did indeed bring them their first cheque from Prudential Insurance. With it they bought a motorhome, which for many years was their winter residence in Florida.

Though none of us would ever begrudge them the security they worked so hard for, you can take it as fact that there will NEVER BE POWDERED MILK IN MY HOUSE!