Have you looked at the calendar? Have you seen what day it is tomorrow? Tax Day — that annual rite of spring.

I hope you’ve filed already and have that nasty piece of business behind you for another year. Unless, of course, you like filing taxes, and then I don’t know what to say. Um, have a happy day?

There are two parts to filing taxes I don’t like — the paying of the taxes and the filing of those taxes. I don’t see a path forward where I would ever like to pay taxes, but the good news is I have done a 180 on the filing part. The trick is, if you don’t make too much money, the IRS will fill out the form for you for free. Like, who wouldn’t trust the IRS? Pity the fool, but in this case, I do.

It’s so easy. I pop in a few numbers, often zeros — in general, book writers don’t make a lot of money — and they do all the rest. I love it. I love Tax Day. Except for the part where I always owe the government money, which does leave a bad taste in my mouth. It just galls me to pay taxes of any description. I know it doesn’t do any good to complain, and most of the time I wouldn’t, but Tax Day — that’s my annual rite of spring: to complain.

I blame that on my youth. Or more precisely, the first time I filled out a 1040. Except they aren’t called 1040s in Canada. But it was the same deal. In the days before “online” became one word, we filled out the form by hand — the original in pen and mailed off and a copy, done in pencil and stuck in the filing cabinet.

I was 16 my first time. My dad and I had a date at the kitchen table one April night. He was going to show me how to fill out the income tax form that first year I earned a paycheck. It was meant to be a learning experience, but, sadly, I’m the type of person who needs to do something over and over and over again for that something to sink in. Once a year was never going to cut it.

My father didn’t know that at the time, or if he did, he chose to ignore it and soldiered on, explaining that this number goes on that line, add this, subtract that, flip over the page, more adding, more subtracting, and finally, come to near the end of the page and a final subtraction, and Dad points to a blank line and says, “You owe $189 in taxes,” and then fills in the blank.

“What!?” I said. Actually, it was more like “What!!!!??” “What do you mean I owe the government money? Are they going to do this to me every year?” I’m sure my dad did his level best to explain why we pay taxes to the government, but I was having none of it. Not then, not now. It’s my money (or at least I thought it was), and it should be me who decides how to spend it. Not to mention what a lousy job they’ve done with it. Anyone who can add and subtract could do better.

Spring has sprung, the flowers are in bloom, taxes are done for another year, and now I have nothing left to complain about. Until next year rolls around.

A little Janis Joplin crying, but not over taxes …