Tax Freedom Day

For most people, tax freedom day is a point in time between April and June when, from that instant forward, we’re working solely for ourselves instead of for the government.

However, for me, tax freedom day was yesterday. It was the day my wife and I finished gathering information, receipts and forms, and we sent it all off to our C.P.A. Now she can have fun trying to figure it all out.

And I am now free of the yoke which bears heavily on me each late winter and sometimes into early Spring. In fact this year we finished the abominable task earlier than I can remember over the past 15 or 20 years.

I’m a procrastinator by nature, and so I’ve always tended to “put off the inevitable” as long as possible. It has ruined many a Major League Baseball opener for me.

I love baseball, and I really look forward to opening day as a relief from the sports drought since football ended about two months ago (I’m not a basketball fan at all, except for a slight interest in March Madness). The horsehide opener is early this year (late March instead of somewhat into April), and now I’ll have some time to even watch the Mariners and the Giants from Arizona whenever they’re on TV. And to enjoy opening day without a thought given to the tax man.

Back in the days when our taxes were less complicated, and I was able to do them with the assistance of Turbo Tax, I can remember sweating tax bullets often right through opening day. That’s enough to not only require a lot of Pepto Bismol – but also to spoil the grand beginning of the baseball season.

One reason I love baseball is that it’s a Spring sport. There’s nothing quite like the blended aromas of a well oiled baseball glove, sweat, freshly raked dirt, and new grass underfoot. All of nature is optimistic in the Spring, and it carries over into baseball hopes for the season and to an anticipation of many wonderful warm weather days or nights at the ballpark.

It matters not that I still have to deal with paying the taxes on the 15th of April. I’ll drop the envelope in the mailbox on the way to the ballpark.