The Quarterback

I think I aged 20 years in the past two days. On Tuesday night, Charles Schwab gave me two tickets to a private suite at the Timberwolves game. 'Twas not a big deal - other than the fact that I haven't been honored in such a way since I was about 12 years old. Back then, I was the smiling kid trailing behind my successful father. They were buttering up him, not me.

On Wednesday, I found out I have people. And I'm their quarterback. Huh? Me?


I have no fewer than six financial advisors, two accountants, two personal bankers, and one lawyer. They're my people. According to them, I'm their quarterback, and I need to coordinate all of them in the name of the team owner - my mom. Yikes.

These people are supposed experts in their fields, and they aren't in charge of one cent that belongs to me. Yet they listen to what I say because my mom pays them to. Me, a guy who knows little about anything outside of fantasy football.

Betwixt you and me, I'm quite intimidated and scared by my task. This is my inheritance. This is what my dad and I talked about in the few, brief moments we had while he was sick. My mom would tell me that my dad is watching over me...and wincing every time I make a mistake or ask a stupid question.