Yesterday was T-Day for me. Taxes. Actually, I did our old sons' taxes a couple weeks back. It was almost a nostalgic experience because I could use the easiest forms and they got a complete refund. Aaahhh. The good old days. Really, their taxes were so simple, you could almost just send the IRS a postcard: "Hi! Hope you are fine. We are fine. It would be fine if you could just send back all the money we sent your way this past year. Thanks and take care!"

My dad, Ron, always did our family taxes. He had a desk in the foyer of our second floor. ("Foyer" sounds pretty fancy but really just means "room where the stairs led to." Somewhere, all the English teachers I have ever had are grimacing over that horrible last sentence. If you tried to diagram that sentence, you could end up in traction.) On a cold Saturday morning in February, he would hunker down with a pile of forms, well-sharpened pencils, a cup of coffee (The real stuff with caffeine...no milk, no cream, no sugar...no frou-frou names. Back then, Starbuck was still hunting down whales. We were a Butternut household.) and cigarettes. All he needed was one of those green visors. I think my dad got a lot of satisfaction doing the taxes. He went right into World War II out of high school and never made it to college. Yet, he worked with and even supervised, a lot of bright, young college grads. While most of them were taking their taxes to an expert, Ron did it himself. It was a morning that demanded quiet around the house. Soon, the only noise you'd hear was the tapping and whirring of the adding machine. The cigarette smoke around his head spinning into dollar signs He had a very precise hand when it came to penmanship. That's an old-fashioned word in today's universe of keyboards and touch-pads. My dad's hand-writing is one of my most vivid memories. Even as an adult, you might receive a letter, written with a black felt-tip marker on a yellow, legal-sized piece of paper with every T crossed and every I dotted. Regardless of the message, you had to admire the presentation: "Joel, You have been a major disappointment to me. Sincerely, R." Now, before I break into that Streisand song from Yentl, I'd better get back to the taxes. Ron usually finished up with both state and federal stuff by early afternoon, majestically placing the Manila envelopes on the dining room table for delivery.

I continue this family tradition of doing my own taxes for a number reasons: It is, I suppose, a minor homage to Ron...minus the cigarettes, coffee and precision. I don't like the idea of paying someone else to tell me how much I am going to have to pay another someone else. And, it is a quiet protest about how complicated the whole ordeal has become. So, yesterday, after walking the dog and consulting him about possible deductions, I sat down at the desk to get some work done. There are so many forms and "schedules" and publications to use, it gets confusing. I spent 20 minutes trying figure out what "10th and Broadway--6:15" meant before I realized I was using a Bus Schedule instead of Schedule A. Of course, that one is for itemizing deductions. I always feel pretty petty when I notice how small the charitable deduction line is...if only they had a slot for "Intended to Give." There's SE and C and C-EZ and Pub. 6851 and on and on and on. You have to multiply this number by that percentage to get this figure which then indicates you didn't need to fill out the form after all. You have worksheets to determine which forms you need. I wish the worksheets were more like elementary school with story problems. "Farmer Brown has six chickens and four sheep. If Farmer Brown drives into town going 50 miles per hour while wearing a red cap, and a train, going the opposite direction, passes Farmer Brown at a speed of 75 mph, how many of the chickens and sheep will it take to rummage through Farmer Brown's closet and find his well-read copies of National Geographic? Bonus Points: Name the sheep and chickens." (I may not be remembering the problem exactly right.) Even if you blew the problem, you could get extra credit for coloring in the accompanying picture of Farmer Brown and the livestock. Why couldn't the government give you a few extra deductions if you do a good job coloring in the drawing of the head of the IRS standing in front of their building in Washington?
"Use bold colors and stay within the lines and you may save hundreds in taxes!"

At one point, the figures got so out of hand it appeared I would have to trade one of our children, plus the dog, for a future exemption to be named later. I also wasted considerable time trying to withdraw money from one of those automated tellers because the instructions said "You may need to use the ATM." Finally, the eight people waiting behind me in line, pointed out that it was AMT (Alternative Minimum Tax) not ATM.

After several hours, I wrapped things up as I usually do: Got all the schedules and forms and W-2's, W-4's and WD-40, packed them into box of chocolate chip cookies and potpourri, along with several pictures of our children holding up signs saying "Please, Be Nice To Our Dad. He's Not Too Bright But He Tried!" and shipped it off to the IRS. Somewhere down the line I will probably receive this reply "Joel, You have been a major disappointment to us. IRS."