Millenium Chaos (2nd WDC 10 Yr Contest)

When I recall the tumultuous events of the year 2000, I generally look back and smile. As we entered the new year, the world seemed to breathe a sigh of relief and at the same time felt a vein of enthusiasm as a new millennium fell upon us all. The Y2K bug panic subsided. The 1990’s came to a halt. Forms with 19__ had to be revised. New technologies, such as the internet, came into fashion.

As far as my own personal life, this year would mark several turning point to many different paths. My wife, Patricia, had procured a teaching position at a local school just three years earlier, and as it turned out this would be the only stable factor in our lives for that year.

I, being a tax accountant at a CPA firm, had become embroiled in another tax season of completing tax return after tax return. The long hours became longer as we pushed into February. Individual returns flooded the office and bookkeeping to finish out the last year became priority. Once those books were completed the financial statements flowed to me, to assign tax professionals to them.

The all-too-familiar scenario progressed as it had for me for the last fifteen years. I started as the copy boy at my family’s tax business in 1985 and progressed to graduate college and run the entire tax operations of a small CPA firm. I arrived home after 11:00pm. My wife had already gone to bed.

Hearing her rustle around in our bedroom, I knew she was awake. “Hi, Dear.” I called as I trudged up the stairs.

“Hello.” Came the reply. “How was your day?”

“Long.” I turned toward the kitchen.

I perused the leftovers, when she sauntered in. “Well, hi,” I said somewhat surprised. Once she retired to bed, she rarely got up.

“Hello.” Her eyes sparkled in the chandelier light. She approached, wrapped her arms around my neck, and kissed me.

“Well, hello to you too.”

“I was sitting at my desk this afternoon, and I had the biggest rush of nausea. So, I went to the cafeteria and bought a sleeve of crackers.”

I nodded. I didn’t quite understand the relevance or why I should care, but being married for eleven years, sometimes you just listened and nodded.

“Ok.”

“I sat at my desk munching those crackers. I had the oddest sense of Déjà vu. One minute those crackers were delicious. The next they made me nauseous. A weird sick feeling.” She smiled up at me and uttered the word that knocked me from my doldrums. “Daddy.”

For a moment, it didn’t register. I smiled and she kept staring into my eyes.

“You’re pregnant!”

We both were overjoyed.

………………………….

My daughter, Courtney, seven, attended first grade at a large elementary school. She became used to being an only child, and life in a big city school. In May, life would take a serious right turn with a seemingly innocent statement from my daughter to my Dad. We withheld the fact my wife was pregnant until about week fourteen. In late April, we had reached week eight. We knew the chances of miscarriage went down after week twelve.

Life cruised along in late April 2000. Courtney looked forward to summer. In first grade, the school days seemed very long compared to the half-day kindergarten of last year. This situation dictated some excitement, and to a seven-year old, excitement meant staying at grandma’s. She loved to spend the night and let my mother dote on her. The mutual love between grandchild and grandparent was easy to see. I loved that they enjoyed it.

On Friday, my daughter packed her red suitcase.

“Now, behave for Grandma and Grandpa.”

“I will.” Courtney’s tiny voice chimed.

“Let’s go.” Her mother urged. She ran to the car and quicker than a jack rabbit she buckled in and grabbed her coloring book for the forty-five minute drive.

Arriving at my parents’ home, my mind always reminisced about my childhood. Several acres and a woods, nestled in the heart of Eaton, Ohio. Shooting off fireworks, climbing trees, building forts, playing in the dirt, I knew my daughter would have fun here.

………………………..

When we returned on Sunday evening, my Dad greeted us at the door.

“Hi, Son.”

“Hi, Dad. Was Courtney good?”

“Good as gold.”

“Does she have her things packed?”

“No. But I think Grandma is on her about it. Come on in and sit down for a while.”

“Ok.” Pat shuffled in behind me.

“Courtney and I went over to that new subdivision just through our woods. There’s a nice house over there. I believe that’s the second one.” My Dad grinned. “Your daughter seems to think you’ll be living in it.”

“Why would she say that?”

“I don’t know. She just blurted it out.”

“Let’s go look at it,” Courtney piped.

Like a troop of monkeys we filed out the door, pushed through the woods, and walked across an empty lot to stand before the quaint, blue house. I mulled the thought of living there in my mind. My wife stood beside me, with a similar expression. The wheels of fate began to turn.

In the coming days, we examined the empty lots and focused on the adjacent one to my parents. We finalized my taking over management of my parents’ five tax offices. We called the builder and like a whirlwind signed a contract to build. When we also sprang the news of my wife’s pregnancy in late May, I thought my parents’ smiles were painted on. My wife’s job was a similar distance from our current home.

The next step, we knew. We had to sell our current house that rested by the busiest street in the city, and get enough to buy the lot outright. The odds of selling our home, having one built, juggling a job change, and having a child on the way smacked us in the face. Were we crazy?

Day by agonizing day passed. Our house was one of a handful priced around $100k. Nearly every day, someone wanted to view the house. In a span of forty-five days, the house was shown to more than sixty couples. Our house had never stayed so clean for so long. Add my wife’s hormones and corresponding daily cleaning frenzies and you had one word – Stress.

The day arrived and an offer sheet lay before us -- $95,000. My wife jumped on it. I felt we should wait, but wives have a way, and we signed the agreement. Within days we signed the construction loan papers, bought the lot, and our new home began construction. In the mean time, we had thirty days to vacate. One problem (and the main reason I wanted to wait, as we were going to start construction one way or the other): We had nowhere to live.

My parents’ five tax offices turned out to be the answer. We moved all of our possessions of the cumulative fifteen years of marriage to a tax office. We would live in a jam-packed space with one tiny bathroom and boxes everywhere. I had to suck up an hour plus commute, but still had the unenviable task of giving my bosses notice. They were both saddened, but my last day of September 1, 2000 was set. I thought I owed them ample time to find a suitable replacement. At this point, I knew we were nuts.

From out of left field came another problem, a mortgage book from our old bank arrived – with a yellow forwarding label. I eyed the piece of mail as my wife approached.

“Bizarre.”

“What?” My wife asked, shoehorned into our love seat which served as our main sofa. She now showed the “bump” at six months.

“Our old mortgage company sent us a payment book.”

“Probably crossed in the mail. We paid off the mortgage months ago at the closing.”

“Yeah.”

She stared at the aquarium for a moment. “Maybe we should check it out.”

“It’s a mistake.”

“Just check it out.” Her voice more stern.

“All right.” I flipped open my phone and dialed customer service.

After maneuvering through the maze of automated “Press one” menus, I finally got an actual person who informed me that our mortgage had not been paid off. Stunned, she stated we were now three months behind! We were not pleased. A call to the title agency, real estate agent, and the bank we closed at, became top priority. We were weeks away from applying for mortgages to replace the construction loan.

Within an hour of reading the riot act to our real estate agent, we had our answer. The bank received the money. Indeed the check arrived the next day overnight with a signature. Some one at the bank had "misplaced" the check. Furious, I threatened to hang whomever was responsible by their big toe over the nearest bridge if this affected our credit score.

Two days later, we received a copy of a "To Whom It May Concern" letter which apparently had been copied I'd guess 5,413 times as the lines, pot marks, and blurry letters attested. To this day we will not do business with this national bank.

August's end came and my wife began her hour commute from our temporary locale. At seven and a half months, the kids loved it. Seventh graders (especially the girls), you have to love them, raging hormones and all.

Our house progressed as each construction draw took a bite from our savings, and when we had run through that, the loan kicked in. To say the least, watching the house come together a piece at a time got both of us excited. With my father being an electrician, my brother and I helped wire the entire house. When that ended, we also signed on to do the painting.

The occupancy permit arrived on September 29th. We moved in September 30th. The builder was shocked. He'd never seen a couple move in so fast. Of course, he'd never seen my wife 8 months pregnant in full nesting mode with a nursery to decorate.

After painting the walls a light yellow (her pick), my wife burbled to me in tears. She hated it. "OK. My dad and I will repaint on one condition."

"What?"

"I pick the paint this time."

She nodded, and for another two days we painted on a nice Earth tone. The place looked wonderful -- new shiny, gold light fixtures, new carpet, new linoleum, oak cabinets. Now, we waited for the baby to arrive.

We invited my mom and dad for supper on November 11th, six days past her due date. A nice steak dinner, good conversation, and contractions completed a nice evening. My parents eased home through a small path, only to be called about fifteen minutes later. It was time, and we had a forty-five minute drive. After a call to the doctor, he said we needed to be on our way. We left Courtney at her grandparents and shot out the driveway.

At 11:26 pm, my son, Aaron, entered the world. My parents rushed down with big sis, and my dad's only namesake grandson soon cuddled in his and everyone else's arms. The 2000 election news droned on in the background. I thought for a moment about the importance of Aaron being born in the year 2000. Then it hit me. He really had a unique birthday. Eleven Eleven. Moreover he would be eleven on 11/11/2011.

Many events happened in the year 2000 for our family. I doubt we will ever see another one quite like it. Our little Y2k bug was born. To this day we call him "bug". He will always be a lasting reminder of how our family changed in that magical year. You can be assured I look back and smile. I have a lot of reasons.


1981 Words
Year 2000 Contest Entry


2nd Place in the Year 2000 WDC 10th Anniversary Contest (36 entries)