When frugal turns into cheapskate, lessons from Dad and Grandma

My dad taught me to be frugal. His mother, my precious grandma, taught me to appreciate quality. God love him, Dad was a cheapskate. Quality fell off the table when he considered the cost of things. That said, he was meticulous about whatever he was working on. With physical labor, he was lavish. 

I remember helping Dad change window storms to screens and vice versa on ours and my grandma’s houses. This entailed a thorough scrubbing and cleaning of the frame of the window, sometimes repaintings, and scrubbing of the screen and window until the window sparkled and the screen was dust free. It was an all-day project. Every fall and spring he did this.

Our lawn was emerald green, lush and mowed. It was like walking on velvet. Landscaping was always trimmed and shapely. He did the spring cleaning in the house, as well. It was easiest to just get out of his way. He had a system, which, essentially, was tearing everything apart, vacuuming, scrubbing and wiping down every surface, then washing and cleaning each thing before putting them back in place on their respective surfaces (bookcase, counter, shelf, floor, curtain rod, wall, etc.).   

 When it came to home repairs, well, that’s where the impact to his wallet came into consideration. I remember him installing a new shower head. He chose the one that cost three dollars, as opposed to the one that was maybe 10 or 12 dollars. Of course, there was a difference in quality, chrome looking plastic with plastic parts vs. real chromed metal with brass parts. The plastic one didn’t last a year, predictably. Dad was incensed. He’d paid good money. It should have lasted into perpetuity. Uhhmm.

Then there was the sacrifice to aesthetics when it came to laying out money. Mom and Dad used to go to the day-after-Christmas sales to grab up ornaments and decorations for the next Christmas’ Splendiforousness. One year they got some particularly nice greenery and these cute foil blue-green ornaments, pillar candles. Quality stuff.  

That next Christmas season, as always, Dad decorated, parceling out his decorations to make them cover as much of the house as possible with a festive splash. I was in junior high.  Dad had decorated before going to work and while I was still at school. When I came home, I saw this ramble of froo-froo trying to imitate a centerpiece on our dining room table. I hated the sparseness of its clustered-up bits and pieces. So, I savaged his paltry arrangements spread throughout the house for that lush greenery and foil ornaments, a few pinecones and the biggest pillar candle. I added Mom’s Roseville figurine of the Madonna and child and a hunk of styrofoam and went to work. 

An hour later, I had a fairly elegant centerpiece sprawling over the middle of the table. Mom loved it. Dad worked second shift and got home after us kids were in bed. The next day when I got home from school, I saw what Dad thought of my efforts. The sad froo-froo ramble was back on the dining room table and all the lush greenery and ornaments parceled back out into his random scrappy arrangements. So, I gathered it all back up and reassembled my centerpiece.

This went on every day until Christmas. Dad and I never said anything about this to each other. It was a quiet, amicable war of wills, although Mom let her preference be known with praises for my work. Thanks, Mom. The next year, I think I made a few attempts and then gave it up. I was on to other things in my teenage life, and Christmas decor didn’t rise to a level worthy enough to engage my energy toward that battle.

For all of that, I have to thank Dad for teaching me to be frugal, to appreciate the value of a dollar and what it took to earn it. But I’ll pay for quality. I prefer to get it on sale. I do love a good deal and actively search for those. But ultimately, I’m going to lay down the extra moolah for quality. Every time. Thanks, Grandma.