Harvey, my first father-in-law, was a fur buyer.  I was just back from Vietnam, scheduled to start graduate school the next spring.  Still, Harvey apparently mistrusted my intentions and assumed that I intended to be a perennial student, and somehow on the dole – his dole.  The thought was the furthest from my mind, but it seems to be the opinion he and all my other relatives had at the time.  He was worried about it enough that he even tried to teach me how to grade fur.

Harvey had a shed where he kept his furs before transporting them downtown to the French Market where he ultimately sold them.

“This is a rat fur,” he said, pointing to a muskrat skin.  “I pay a dollar for a regular pelt and a little more for a grade A pelt.  Know how I tell the difference?”

I didn’t have a clue.  The pelts were turned inside out and he stuck his hand inside one, showing me what to do.

“I pass my hand over the fur to see if there are any bald or thin spots.  If there are, the fur isn’t worth as much.  I always give at least a dollar a pelt or else the trappers would take their furs some place else.  If they bring me a hundred rats, I give them at least a hundred dollars.  Everything over that amount is a bonus.  You understand?”

I nodded to indicate that I did, but I really didn’t have a clue what he was talking about.

Gail and I had intended to live with Harvey and Lilly for three months, and then three months with my parents before moving to Fayetteville just before the beginning spring semester.  It didn’t happen that way.  After about a week, they began treating us like bad breath.  My sister-in-law even called and offered to pay my way through a real estate course so that Gail and I would stop sponging off their parents.  I’m fairly dense, but I was starting to get the hint.  That night I had a talk with Gail.

“I can’t take much more of this,” I said.  “Your parents obviously don’t want us here.”

“But what will we do?”

“Leave here and spend the rest of the time with my parents.  I think they are more understanding.”

Next day we packed and drove to Vivian, Lillie crying but not begging us to stay.  After a week at my parent’s house, we got another rude awakening.  They too began treating us like, well like blood-sucking leeches.  After just a few days, we packed our bags again and left for Fayetteville.

For the first time in my life I learned that families are strange, really strange.  The may love you but they don’t want you living with them, or for you to give the rest of the family the impression that you are living off of them.

It was a good lesson but it leaves me with one question – why can’t I  get rid of my own kids as easily?

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