Norm!! (continued)

The Tire Shop fails to disappoint. Of course, with wonderful service, the Tire Shop finished my van in the same day as the drop off. I went in last night to pick it up, and introduced myself to the new kid, Tim. He obsequiously apologized for not knowing me, and said he would remember me in the future. Jeez, I felt like the Godfather! (In my best Godfather accent, I'm thinking, "You know, I really think you should try to work me in. There may come a time when you need certain favors...")

Gwen then explains to him how I'm the "Norm" of the joint. She then jokes that it's too bad they don't serve beer there!

"I would pay extra for that service," I reply.

At this point, Rusty, another guy at the desk, no kidding, reaches below the desk and pulls out an ice-cold bottle of Michelob Ultra. I was amazed. This place really does rock!

Rusty joked that at 7:00:05, the lights get turned down low and the beer comes out!

Norm!!

I love the Tire Shop in Leesburg. They are great. My father always said that if you find an honest woman, marry her! The same is true for an honest mechanic! I feel like I'm married to the Tire Shop! (And happily at that!)

I also have a friggin' fleet of vehicles: the 93 Ford Ranger, the 95 Saturn, the 97 Chrysler Town & Country, and now a 05 Hyundai Elantra. Yeah, they know me real well at the Tire Shop. I'm always there for an oil change at least. But with the older three vehicles, all over 100,000 miles, yeah, they love me a lot.

Gwen, who works the front desk, is always teasing me that I'm like "Norm" on Cheers. I walk into the shop, and everyone yells out a friendly, "Scott!" Whether it's a restaurant or a car mechanic, I love being recognized by name.

So the peak moment occurred today when my wife went in to trade out the van for the Saturn. The Saturn had been dropped off in the night-drop box, and we were dropping off the van at the time we were picking up the Saturn. So Becky tells me that there's this new kid working the front desk; Gwen is on the phone with another customer next to him.

My wife tries to put the van in for the oil change, and the new kid says, "Sorry, but we're all full for oil changes tomorrow."

At this point, Gwen stops what she is doing, and corrects the boy, "Hon, we have room for Scott." (She even recognized my wife!) Yeah, first class treatment, even for an oil change!

Life is good.

Freedom

It seems remarkable to me that the norms of parenting today stand in stark contrast to the norms of when I grew up in the seventies. First of all, let me very clearly state that my parents were very good, very attentive, and very involved in my life from birth even to the present day.

That said, both of my parents worked. My dad was an officer in the Army, and my mother was a full-time nurse. Therefore, I was often left alone as a child—something which strikes me as unthinkable, even criminal, today. They even had a term for it. I was what they called a ‘latch-key kid.’ My brother and I would be home alone after school while my parents finished their last hour or two of work. My earliest memory of this was when I was eight years old.

Today, I have two sons. One is ten; the other eight. My youngest is the same age that I was when I was being left home alone for a couple of hours. Yet, would I allow the boys two hours of freedom and solitude while I step out to the store in town? Heck no!

And why is that? I ask people that question. What is different about then and now?

People tell me that “times have changed,” or that “things aren’t the same as they used to be,” or “it’s just not safe anymore.” Is that really true?

When I grew up, I was in the perceived safety of U.S. Army bases in Germany. We were literally fenced in and guarded around the clock. So it felt pretty safe.

But today, I live in a small Virginia town. We have three stoplights, and I know nearly every single person in my neighborhood. Are things really less safe today than they were in the seventies? Sure, we have sexual predators, and through the magic of the Internet, we can see exactly where they live. And, yes, there are some nearby. Are we better off knowing that?

Were the seventies any different? Were there not creeps and weirdos back then? Sure there were. Our parents warned us about them. They taught us what to look for, and to never get into cars with strangers. There was always that strange reclusive white-haired lady who every kid was afraid of. Again, no different from today.

And yet, when I was a kid, my mother would kick my butt out of the house after breakfast, and I would wander freely through the neighborhood until suppertime. The places I wandered fueled my imagination and taught me many things. Some of these were useful things, like spending hours erecting forts in nearby forests. Other times, we put our free time to less than useful things, like finding a stash of Playboy magazines buried under an old log in someone’s backyard.

Back then, my brother and I would walk ourselves to the pool to swim the days away in the summer. We would attend the pool completely unsupervised by our parents. This is absolutely unthinkable to me today!

My favorite excursions with my brother came when we were spending one summer in Ponca City, Oklahoma. Mike and I would routinely walk ourselves a couple of miles through our grandfather’s neighborhood, along the bricked streets, over to Miller’s Market on 14th Street. On the way, we'd have to avoid the aggressive short-haired dachshund that always tried to rip our legs off. Once safely at Miller's, we’d buy ourselves each one large Dino-sour egg—a large sour jawbreaker that changed colors as you ate it.

After popping the eggs into our mouths, we’d both walk back home to Grandpa’s house—again, avoiding that dachshund—each with our swollen cheek full of soury goodness.

Have my children ever experienced this freedom? No. Have my children ever been outside my watchful eye, or that of a relative or sitter, even for a minute? No. Have my children ever really explored their world on their own? No. Why?

I feel very hypocritical for maintaining this level of security over my children that is far and above any that I experienced. The problem is that, for some reason, this level of suburban security has become the societal norm. Maybe some farm kids growing up in rural Idaho are roaming freely through their towns and forests. Mine, in suburban Virginia, are not.

Today’s norms center around “age appropriate” time alone. I’m told that an eleven year old child may be left alone for 30 minutes. A twelve year old for a couple of hours. A thirteen year old, if he’s very mature, may even start to babysit for others. I must admit, my kids are not too far from these ages now. But I wonder, have I smothered them too much along the way?

Fed Up with Wachovia

Wachovia used to be a nice bank. Becky and I established our Wachovia account way back in 1997 when we moved to Virginia. Back then, it was First Union, and one of the only banks on Main Street. We wanted something local and convenient with an ATM in our town to avoid extra charges.

Things were great for thirteen years. The bank was so good, we joked Wachovia was pronounced, "WATCH-OVER-YA".  Their Crown Banking had no fees as long as we kept a minimal amount in our account. Mind you, the checking and savings accounts paid a ridiculous amount of interest (.1% or something like that), but that was the norm for checking accounts nationwide.  Otherwise, the access was good and the price was free.

Cue the ominous music.  Enter Wells Fargo.

On Dec. 31, 2008, Wells Fargo purchased the Charlotte based Wachovia, and things were fine... for a while.

In my last statement, they have started to nickel and dime me with charges. I only wish it was just nickels and dimes, though:

• $5.95 per month for online banking, a service I absolutely need,
• $2.50 for each non Wells Fargo ATM (in addition to the normal charge from other banks), and
• $2.00 per month if I want a paper statement with check images on it.

Is that all?  I don't know.  But I'm not finding out.  I'm out of here.

After thirteen years, I'm walking away from Wachovia. (Or is it Walk-Over-You?) Changing banks is not something I do lightly. After all, it's a pain in the butt to change.  I have to reset my direct deposit, get new checks, get new ATM cards, get new custodial accounts for the boys, transfer all the money over.  But I will not pay these ridiculous service charges just to have access to my money. Honestly, at $10 per month, isn't it cheaper to keep my money under a mattress? That's not supposed to be how banks work.

Where did I decide to bank? Well, I won't be broadcasting that on the Internet, thank you very much, but suffice it to say that the new bank offers:

• Free checking and savings with actual interest
• Free accounts for the boys (which include ATM cards and checks as we teach them financial responsibility)
• Free ATM access (even if we use a non-affiliated ATM, they will refund the OTHER BANK charges!)
• Free checks
• Free deposit slips
• Free online banking
• Deposits by scanner at home (that seems pretty cool)

All this from a company that has been in business for just under 100 years.

Now I'm wondering, why didn't I do this sooner?

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UPDATE:  In the category of "This Further Pisses Me Off", Wachovia also started embedding advertisements into my online banking.  This is really so annoying.  I'm not just talking about the standard side-bar ads that most of the banks use, but the embedded yellow call-out ads slid in between each line of my account status.  (With no way to acknowledge or close the ads.)

As if I needed another reason to leave!