The 'T' Word

The ‘T’ word.

There is nothing more dreaded than TAX season. I think when my father set out with the vision to create a self-sustaining woman out of me, he hoped to achieve a good dowry or something by teaching me how to do my own taxes. And now that chickens are allowed in urban areas, maybe his dream will become a reality. How many chickens could a tax savvy woman go for? Side tracking.

Either that, or he suspected there may be a male armaggedon some day. And doing taxes is not a male job -- I might add, I'm just so used to my dad taking care of the books. It would seem natural to reserve that task for a male counterpart in my life. Alas, as there are in fact roughly 100,000 more women than men in Vancouver, I will just have to suck it up and do my own taxes for the time being.

Point is, when April dawns early every year, I always bemoan that weekend where I’ll scribble away and rattle through the cobwebs at the back of my brain to muster feeble attempts at basic arithmetic. I’m discovering that I am a rare breed. I do my taxes by scratch – no tax programs, and all by hand. Computers? What are those? It may be archaic but that’s how I was taught and that’s the way it will be. Plus me and math don’t get along so my cross-checking is better on paper. I’ll whine about what I have to go through and friends say, Oh, I get my accountant to do them. Really now? Are your finances just that complicated? It is valid for some, but not everyone. Granted it is circumstantial but still, I believe this season every year, builds my character somewhat. Maybe in an ogre-esque fashion but builds it nonetheless.

You get to a certain point when you view your return at the end and you know you made a huge error when the government wants to pay you money, as in large enough sums that you can vacation off of. I discovered that erroneous situation this year when I attempted to apply for the Working Income Tax Benefit. Yes, I am poor and I realized that I am on the higher end of a low tax bracket but I figured I would look into what poverty truly means by the Canadian standards. Inevitably, there was no really clear answer because it is a percentage basis. Easy? That would be just too straightforward but what I suddenly realized was that I must not qualify for it when the outcome = generosity from the government.

I have always received a return on my taxes. This year, however, I did not. I am crying slightly on the inside. I owe money sadly. Last year was the ending of a beautiful time in my life. That whopping cheque the year that a student only has one semester or less in school and yet works for the remainder of the time is glorious. You get school credits as well as impoverished worker credits resulting in a great return.

I am done, thankfully, and my eyes can uncross. I am blood-letted and poor -- but not in spirit. The word Revenue I’ve discovered will forever look weird to me but I am starting to blame that on bilingualism and categorize it as one of the many Anglophone words that looks French. Otherwise, I think we’re good. My i’s are crossed and my t’s are dotted.