Dear Chase Bank…

I know it’s not a lot of money to you, but it is to me…

Wait. Let me back things up a second. I need to explain.

As you all probably saw in my previous post, my father died nearly 3 months ago. He didn’t have much, but the little bit he did have would of course pass down to me, my brother, and/or my mother. After months of filing paperwork, faxing documents, and jumping through numerous hoops, my mother finally got the life insurance money that she was entitled to through their divorce. It wasn’t much, but our plan was to split it three ways. Since they are both members of the same credit union, my mother easily just transferred my brother’s portion into his account. She wrote me a check, which I then deposited into a Chase bank ATM.

Big mistake.

I deposited the check some time last week … let’s say Thursday. Today (Tuesday) the check had processed in my account, but the funds were inexplicably not available. I called Chase and was told that they had placed a hold on the funds and needed to call the credit union the check was written on in order to verify the funds. I wasn’t too mad at this point. I figured they’d call the credit union, verify the funds, and release the hold. Unfortunately, the credit union was not open at that time, so they were unable to verify.

I called back at about 10am when I was certain that the credit union would be open. After being on the phone for over half an hour, the customer service rep told me that the credit union would not verify the funds over the phone. They then added that I had two options at that point. I could have the person who wrote the check (my mother) put them in touch with a banker at the credit union to verify the funds, or I could take my mother into a Chase branch and have her log in to her bank account and show them that the funds were processed. If neither of these conditions were met, the funds would be automatically released on March 11th – nearly two weeks after I initially deposited the check.

Now, is it me, or does this seem a little excessive in order to release a hold on a couple thousand dollars? I had, and still have, many questions.

Why was my deposit flagged in the first place?

Why am I being made to jump through so many hoops in order to release a fairly low amount of money?

Why is Chase so insistent upon maintaining their kung fu grip on my dead father’s insurance money?

Why is Chase ignoring my tweets? Their only response so far is that my “case” has been “escalated” and I’d be contacted when a decision was made. This leads me to my final question(s)…

Why am I on trial? My “case”? Once a decision is made? Why is my piddling amount of money on trial, and why has Chase made themselves the judge and jury?

All of these questions lead me to one answer: Class discrimination.

I’m not a rich person. I wouldn’t even deem myself middle class. I live check to check, barely making enough money to get by and feed my son. I’ve taken out numerous pay-day loans in the recent past, and made many intentional overdrafts (not with Chase though) because I needed the money “now” and knew that once I got paid I’d be able to cover the fee.

Side note: In 2012, bank customers paid $32 BILLION dollars in overdraft fees. In other words, greedy ass banks took $32 billion EXTRA dollars out of the pockets of people who already didn’t have money. Classy, isn’t it?

Anyway, the point is that I’m not very well off. My guess is that Chase saw that a guy who routinely has a low balance in his bank account was making what was, by comparison, a large deposit and decided, “Naaaah, something’s fishy here. FLAG HIM!”

So to be perfectly clear, my meaningless transaction was cause enough to raise a red flag in the eyes of Chase – a company who has robbed lower class citizens in order to line their own pockets for years. I guess only “valued customers” who maintain a high balance are entitled to receive their dead parent’s life insurance money in a timely fashion.

https://twitter.com/Michael_Aaron/status/572785122128343040

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As the day wore on, and Chase continued to do nothing other than cling to my dead father’s money like Linus clings to his blanket, I only became angrier.

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Chase has done nothing but only confirm my suspicions of favoritism. While I’ve continued to pointlessly tweet my frustrations and request they release the hold, Chase has gone out of their way to help the executive producer of The Big Bang Theory. After all, his money IS more valuable than mine, right?

It’s been nearly 12 hours since I initially called Chase, and there has yet to be a single stitch of progress. The crazy thing about this is that they’re the ones making this so complicated. Just release the hold. What’s the big deal? I’ve been harassing them all day, getting tons of retweets, and now I’m about to send this blog entry to every major news publication that pops into my mind … and for what? So Chase can be sure that couple thousand dollars actually belongs to me? So that they can then turn around and dig their greedy slimy palms into the pockets of other unassuming lower class citizens and extract MILLIONS? Then turn BACK around and raise an eyebrow at me as if I’M the one out here executing shady and prejudiced business practices?

How long are we going to allow banks to brazenly steal from the lower and middle class? How long are we going to validate their sense of entitlement to our money by continuing to allow them to take it without facing any repercussions? I think it’s time we said that enough is enough. We rely too heavily on banks, and they take advantage of it. Chase currently has a stranglehold on my dead father’s life insurance money and feels SO entitled to it that they won’t even provide me an explanation as to why they want it so badly and why it apparently belongs to them until they decide I can have it. We have to draw the line somewhere, and I think this should be it.

A Son’s Perspective On The Loss Of His Father

I’ve never experienced a feeling quite like I experienced on the night of Friday, December 5th, 2014. I received a phone call from my father’s girlfriend telling me that he had passed away approximately 45 minutes earlier, so I knew what to expect when I entered the hospital room that night, yet I was suddenly overcome with emotion upon seeing him.

Feelings. Feelings are a strange thing to me. I don’t feel them often, so they can sneak up on me unexpectedly, as they did that night. I had seen him in essentially the same condition for about a week and a half, but when I walked into the room that night and saw him, I gasped for breath, put my hand over my mouth, and immediately burst into tears. This is that strange feeling that I mentioned in the first sentence: to simultaneously feel like a grown man and a small vulnerable child in a single instant.

For three weeks, I had been the consummate adult. Before I get into that, though, let me give you a brief background story for context. Approximately 2 years ago, my father and I had fallen out of touch – 100% by his doing. He was in the beginning stages of a divorce with my mother, and I assumed he wanted to distance himself from me because he thought I’d be judging him or thought less of him. To a degree, that was true. However, as I chose to express to him in writing, his problems with my mother were just that: HIS problems. Not mine. I told him I was an adult and a father, and I had my own life to manage. I was perfectly clear when I told him that I didn’t want his problems with my mother to affect our relationship or his relationship with my son.

He never responded.

I wrote him a few more times, with each message being a bit angrier than the last. Ultimately, I ended up calling him a coward, as well as various other names that, in this moment, are pretty irrelevant. The point is, I was pissed off and firing on all cylinders. He was going to feel my wrath. There were f-bombs peppered all throughout that final message, and make no mistake, even though it’s water under the bridge right now, he deserved every last one of those demeaning slurs.

He never responded.

To this day, I still don’t know why he chose to banish me from his life. One day, I may choose to ask. I was never really THAT mad about his treatment toward me, though. Again, I’m an adult and a father with my own life to run. I was more offended at his disinterest in seeing his grandson. I know it was never a “fuck that kid” sort of thing, but that’s how I treated it, and an attack toward Michael would be met with my full wrath – no matter the offending party. So when I found out he was in the hospital, that’s where we were at.

This is the part where I become the consummate adult.

I found out he was in the hospital when my uncle contacted me on Facebook. This was a huge event in and of itself because (and I’m guessing here) I had not seen or heard from my uncle in AT LEAST 20 years. At this moment, it was unknown just how serious my father’s condition was, so I was faced with a decision: Continue to hold my firm grasp on my anger toward him and not visit him, or put on my grown man pants, let the shit go, and visit the man who did an exceptional job of raising me. I chose the latter.

When I arrived at the hospital, he was in pretty bad shape. His speech was heavily slurred and he could barely move. 80% of what he said was unintelligible, and the remaining 20% was when he expressed frustration with his inability to communicate during the other 80%. I didn’t really know what to say, and I could tell he was embarrassed and ashamed. So rather than putting issues on the table and asking all the hard questions, I chose to just reintroduce him to his grandson, tell him about my new fiancee, and update him on our lives in general. This was the routine for the next few days.

Meanwhile, I connected with my uncle on Facebook. If there is ANY good to come out of all this, it’s the fact that we seem to have established a strong relationship in dealing with the loss of my father (his brother). We seem to be very similar people. We have similar writing styles, personalities, triggers, and a seemingly identical view on life as a whole. It’s always cool to find someone who is so much like you when you have a very “unique” personality.

As we connected, he began to plan a trip to Detroit from Wisconsin to visit my father. He arrived on Thanksgiving day, and I still feel a great deal of pain for what HE was met with when he arrived. When I first went to visit my father, there was still a significant amount of “him” in there. By the time my uncle had arrived, my father was barely moving at all and no longer speaking. He was deathly thin, and seemed only moderately aware of what was going on around him.

Back to being the consummate adult. Now, I’m in a unique position. 2 weeks ago, I had no clue where my father was and I didn’t care. Now, due to his divorce from my mother and his inability to make his own decisions, I was now in charge of HIS LIFE. I wouldn’t wish the types of decisions I had to make on anyone, but to a degree, I’m grateful that it was ME who was making them. To be fair, I wasn’t making these decisions alone – though I had the “power” to do so. I took everyone’s opinion into account, and my uncle, my father’s girlfriend, and myself essentially worked as a team to make the decisions that would affect the remainder of my father’s life.

Ultimately, we decided that if he were able to speak, he would express a strong desire to no longer go on living in that condition. Considering how angry he got regarding his inability to effectively communicate when he first got in the hospital, I couldn’t imagine how frustrated he must be (if he was still in there at all) with being unable to communicate entirely. I’ve always said that if my mind stopped working, you can do away with me altogether. I felt with 100% certainty that he felt the same, so that was the decision we made. We committed him to hospice care (essentially taking him off the machines and focusing on his comfort), and he was gone 2 days later.

I’d like to say that I’ve gone through a whirlwind of emotions in the 5 days since, but that wouldn’t be true. I’ve been on “handling business” mode. Just as his medical decisions were my responsibility, so are his post-hospital decisions. I’ve been fielding numerous phone calls per day, telling people who may care about his passing, and working with my “team” to figure out how he want to handle everything from a funeral service to a newspaper death notice. I anticipated the writing of this blog as my way of processing all of this, and as I reach the end of this entry, I don’t feel any different. I feel… empty. I don’t know how I’m “supposed” to feel or what I should do. I’m just going through the emotions at this point.

I don’t even know what to say to people when they say, “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.” Why is that the thing you’re supposed to say? Why is the customary statement one with no proper response? “You going to bring him back?” Can’t say that. “You can’t do shit.” Can’t say that. “You can give me a massage, buy me a new car, pay my rent, and make me dinner.” Can’t say that. You just have to say, “thanks” as the two of you part with the full knowledge that you’ll never ask anything of them. What’s the point of asking then? But I digress…

Anyway, there are some things I do know: I know the things I’m grateful for.

I’m grateful for connecting with my uncle.

I’m grateful for everything my father’s girlfriend did for him. He probably would not have lasted as long as he did without her.

I’m grateful for learning about my father’s internet persona. That was probably the coolest aspect of all this (not that there was much to consider “cool”). It turns out that he was pretty hot shit in the online forums for Detroiters. Several of his online friends came to see him at the hospital – often laying eyes upon him for the first time. They came with great stories, kind words, and genuine emotion. It was an interesting experience to meet these people – a blog topic in and of itself – and I’m grateful for them introducing me to a side of my father that I wouldn’t have seen otherwise.

I’m grateful for solitude. I’m currently on a bereavement leave from work, and as an introvert, the time alone is very therapeutic for me. This is my first public mention that my father was even in the hospital, let alone having passed away. I’m not one to request attention, and I felt as if I would be requesting people’s pity if I posted something online. I don’t want or need that. I’m not going to post something just to rack up a bunch of likes or “sorry for your loss” comments, and I saw no other reason to make any public posts on social media. I needed that time alone, and I’m grateful for the ability to keep this entire situation under wraps until I was ready to release it.

Most importantly, I’m grateful for closure. I got something that a lot of people don’t get to have when their loved ones pass. Since I essentially had to make the decision that would ultimately lead to his passing, I knew it was coming. After I officially made the decision, walking back into the hospital room to see him was, at that point, the worst moment of my life. I had to walk back in and look at him knowing he was going to die soon and that I was the one who made the call. I sat down with him and, again, was flooded with emotion. He wasn’t awake and hadn’t been responsive for days. I laid my head on his shoulder next to his head and cried. I told him how I wish it hadn’t come to this and asked how he could do this to me. How could he put all this pressure on me and force me to make these decisions with his life?  I told him I loved him and that I appreciated the 30 years I did get with him. I told him that he would live on through MY son because I’ve done everything in my power to raise my son the way he raised me, and that my son is already more than a great kid, he’s a great human being. I told my father that he was responsible for that. When I pulled up and looked at him through the tears in my eyes, his eyes were wide open and he had a single tear streaming down his face.

I haven’t told anybody about that. ANYBODY. But I felt in that moment that he understood what was going on, and at the time, I was really shaken by that. In retrospect, I’m grateful. I know that he knew that, no matter what, his son was there for him to the very end and I feel as if I gave him one final reason to be proud of me. I always knew that he was proud of me. He told me. So I’m grateful I was able to close out our relationship on that high note, and I know that he was able to go peacefully knowing that everyone still cared about him. I can only hope to be so lucky myself.

Michael’s First Trip to Coldstone, Plus Photo Talk

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Well hello, people! I know. I know. It’s been a while since I’ve posted, but I’ve decided to wipe the dust off of my trusty Nikon and get back into this photography game. CALM DOWN! I know you’re excited, but I’m going to ease my way back into this. So don’t expect a barrage of posts … at least not right away.

So, for some strange reason, I realized today that I’ve never taken my son to Coldstone before. For those of you who don’t know, Coldstone is an ice cream shop that is, well, EVERYTHING. Imagine eating the ice cream that you love the most. After eating Coldstone, that ice cream will taste like hobo underwear dipped in a garbage juice au jus. Anyway, I figured today would be a good day to take him. We could eat the ice cream outside, and I could snap some pictures. 

Everything went very well. He enjoyed the ice cream. “Can we come back here and get the same thing again, Daddy?” BTW, we had the Apple Pie a la Coldstone. My favorite one there. I also took these photos while he was eating.

So not only is the photo above my favorite of the 3, it’s probably one of my favorite photos that I’ve ever taken. I love LITERALLY everything about it – the depth of field, his eyes, the ice cream on his mouth … EVERYTHING.

Finally, I’ve decided that going forward, I’m going to dedicate a paragraph or two in each blog post to talk about how I took the photos in the post. Most of what I’m going to say will probably seem like a foreign language to the vast majority of you, but for those of you still learning photography – actually, let me rephrase that – for those of you just starting to learn photography (we’re all always learning), these paragraphs could be helpful.

All of these were very simple shots. There was no work put into them as I was shooting them. These were all shot at f/2.8 on my 50mm f/1.4 prime lens. My camera was in aperture-priority mode, so I set the aperture, and the camera selected the shutter speed based on the available light in order to give me a proper exposure. My ISO was at 200, which is where I keep it unless I have to change it.

One weird thing that I’ve always noticed is that, in-camera, when pictures look like they’re properly exposed, they always look too dark when I view them on my computer. That was the case with these. When I opened them in Photoshop, I changed the exposure on all of them, increasing them about half a stop apiece, basically until they were pleasing to my eye. I sharpened them a bit, whitened his eyes, removed a blemish a two or on his face, smoothed his skin a bit, and that was it for any post production.

So that’s it for now. Feel free to leave a comment here or my Facebook fan page, and I promise I’m going to start updating this more often.

http://www.facebook.com/michaellacombephotography

#FID2012 Fashion In Detroit 2012 – Bachrach

A little late, but I’m going to run off a series of posts featuring images from the annual Fashion In Detroit runway show. The show featured looks from several designers, but due to prior obligations, I was only able to make the second half of the show and catch about 5 of the designer’s runway shows.

I’m going to keep the chit chat at a minimum, but I will start by saying that I enjoyed the Bachrach portion of the show. While I felt that some of the looks were a little too much, and some of the models clearly had to be rushed through being dressed, I’ve always enjoyed the type of clothes they sell there.

So enjoy this handful of images, and I’ll be back tomorrow and/or the next day with images from another designer.

#FebPhotoADay Day 27 – Something You Ate

Day 9 of my juice fast. I’m not even liking the taste of the juice right now, so I barely drank any today. I mostly had water. Anyway, this is the extent of what I “ate”. I had a few sips of this, and a few sips of a green vegetable-based juice. Color me depressed (and starving). I don’t know how much longer I can do this.

#FebPhotoADay Day 26 – Night

The previous post, as well as this one, are dedicated to my city, Detroit. This is the overpass at Telegraph Rd and I-96. The oncoming traffic (the white light streaks) are cars exiting Detroit and entering Redford.

#FebPhotoADay Day 25 – Green

#FebPhotoADay Day 24 – Inside Your Bathroom Cabinet

#FebPhotoADay Day 23 – Your Shoes

Just got these yesterday for work. It was a struggle. I just wanted some cheap shoes to wear to work, and I struggled to find anything in my size. So, I call this photo: Big Feet Woes.

#FebPhotoADay Day 22 – Where You Work

I didn’t work at my day job this day, but even if I did, I still consider this my true work, so I would have taken this photo regardless. It’s probably my least favorite photo out of the month so far. I don’t know. It’s a little too over-processed, and I could have put in more work creating better light so that each individual photo was better. It’s difficult to get a cell phone photo without noise, but it’s possible. Anyway, I shot those 4 shots with my iPhone 4s camera, and processed them in Instagram and Stitched.