Younger Daughter goes to the bank

Younger Daughter is 18, you know. She reminds us of this periodically. About once an hour.

Over the weekend Younger Daughter decided that -- inasmuch as she's 18 -- have I mentioned that? -- she could go to the bank by herself and withdraw money from her account. She had a plausible reason for wishing to do this.

For most of our marriage the kids' banking has been exclusively my chore. This was another of those tasks in the fine print of the marriage contract that I never saw.

Somehow or other, though, Long Suffering Spouse was the designated guardian on the kids' various accounts. The thing is, when a parent is on the account as a guardian, the child is not permitted to withdraw money without the parent's consent. This hasn't been a problem for us because we only put money in -- until the kids go to college... and then it evaporates overnight. But, when it is required, that consent must be given live and in person.

Parental consent was not always such a big deal. Back in the day I could buy cigarettes for my parents without even a note. And a generation earlier, kids would "rush the growler" -- taking a pail to the saloon to get it filled with beer -- and, no, I don't know where the expression came from, or even if I'm remembering it correctly.

Long Suffering Spouse was on a roll Saturday morning, grading test papers. The current marking period is almost over and she had a lot of papers to get through. She was uninterested in going to the bank.

But Younger Daughter had a plan: She would go by herself and, if she got any guff, she would tell them that she's 18 and can do as she pleases. Because -- maybe you haven't heard -- she is 18.

"Do you even know where the bank is?" Long Suffering Spouse asked.

It was not a facetious question: When Younger Daughter has made deposits -- always reluctantly -- it is because I have gotten the cash from her when she cashed her paycheck and taken it to the bank myself.

(The banks are never so choosy about who deposits money.)

Younger Daughter rattled off a location.

It was wrong.

Eventually, however, we thought Younger Daughter knew where she was going. And off she went.

She wasn't happy when she got back.

"They wouldn't let me," she wailed. "I told them I was 18 but they still said I need a parent to change the account." And then she railed about the unfairness of it all. Teenagers are the ultimate arbiters of fairness.

Younger Daughter tried to persuade Long Suffering Spouse give up her pile of papers and accompany her back to the bank, but my wife would not be moved. Eventually the matter became academic -- the bank closed at noon.

Last night, cleaning up a bit, I found Younger Daughter's passbook. And, I think, I may have found the reason why she was unable to complete her transaction -- even though she is 18: Her account is at Bank A. In the passbook is a business card that Younger Daughter picked up at the bank she visited.

Bank B.