When closing your bank account makes you cry.

My dad was obsessed with finances, which is a trait I inherited early on in my life. It’s the primary thing he and I talked about when we got together, and I attribute my financial prowess to his example.

In August of 1997, we went to the bank and he helped me open my first checking account. It was linked to his account so he could transfer money in if I got myself into trouble, and could also keep an eye on me if I was making any questionable purchases as a junior higher. It was my primary bank account through most of my life until 4 years ago when TJ and I got married. I had to “leave and cleave” through my new joint checking account with my husband, but I always left that account open.

That account has stayed linked to my parents’ account for the last 20 years even though the nature of how we used it changed. We would transfer money back and forth, loaning it out to each other when we needed fast cash. Every year on my birthday, I would log in and the account would have $25 in it: a gift from my dad. When I got married, TJ started getting a $25 deposit from him too, now officially part of the family. Scrolling through its record of transactions felt like reading a cryptic history book of a part of our relationship.

I recently got a notification from Bank of America that they no longer offer that type of bank account, and would be updating it to a new type of account - one that would charge me a monthly fee if I didn’t meet certain requirements. The account has mostly sat dormant for months with the exception of a few transfers to my mom here and there, so there wasn’t any use keeping it. I put off closing it, but eventually couldn’t put it off any longer without being charged.

I called the bank to shut it down, and I explained to the man on the phone that my dad helped me open that account when I was in 7th grade - 20 years ago - and was sad to have to close it. Things like that make me feel connected to him. I recently changed the password that my dad set up for my online Schwab bank account, and I felt similarly. He had such a bizarre way of coming up with passwords, and every time I had to type it in it made me smile.

The BofA employee and I made small talk about nostalgia, and I held it together long enough to get off the phone with him. But when I hung up, I wept for a few brief moments. The longer time passes, the more things change, the harder it is to feel connected to my dad through these little things. But the world keeps turning and life moves on, regardless of holding onto these artifacts from the past.

I recently saw Coco, the new Pixar film. The premise of the movie is that it’s important to tell stories of the family that came before us, not only to keep alive their memory, but to recognize that they are the ones who shaped us. Writing this down is a small way of helping me feel connected to my dad and keeping that memory alive.

Love you, dad, and your eccentric way of handling finances.