My dad loved a good deal.  He loved getting something for nothing.  He was thrifty to a fault.  He loved money but he did not value material possessions one iota.  Money was a score card.  It separated you from those less intelligent or hard working.  But spending money on ostentatious living was frowned upon.  

When mom was alive, she spent money on the things that she liked to spend money on.  She slipped money to my sister for her children’s tuition, she bought nice presents for her kids and even nicer ones for her grand kids. She liked to dress herself and my dad in designer clothes.  They had a guy at James Davis.  Mom expected Dad to buy her expensive gifts and he did not let her down.

But once mom died, dad settled into a life of frugality that was almost spartan and was certainly comical for a man of his means. He bought his khakis in bulk at Walmart, ditto for his shirts.  He would go all over town looking for the cheapest tomato. But mostly he just did without.

He was a staple at the local Chinese-all-you-can-eat-buffet,
and he would tell me about each day’s offerings, all 58 individual items, even though they rarely changed.  He had a mind like a steel trap.  That comes in handy when you’re blind.  Another story for another day.  Chinese-all-you-can-eat-buffets don’t attract a well heeled clientele.  Dad liked to complain about the other patrons.  One day at the fried catfish section, someone bigger and badder blocked him out and got the last piece.  The lady with the new batch of catfish saw it all go down and she put not one, not two, but THREE pieces of freshly fried catfish on dad’s plate.  He had only planned on getting one piece, but since she had put three pieces on his plate, he decided to eat two and take the third piece home to eat later.  I said, “Dad, these Chinese-all-you-can-eat-buffets generally don’t allow you to take things home.”  He said, “I know, I put it in my pocket.”