I'll be the first to admit that Glen and I provide David and Elizabeth with a pretty comfortable lifestyle. We work very hard in order to do so, and we are delighted that we've seen success in our professional lives that has enabled us to keep our family in "the black."
I also realize that David and Elizabeth are still quite young, and have not yet mastered the concept of just how lucky they are, and how good they have it. This reminder smacked me in the head this morning.
Because I work full-time, we have to find summertime opportunities for the kids to enjoy during the weekdays. This week (and the next two), David is enrolled in the excellent summer day camp program through the Claremont Unified School District. Today, they have a field trip to Newport Dunes.
I'll spare you the details of all of the items he had to pack in his small backpack in order to be ready for wading through the tide pools, lounging on the sand and basking in the sun. But, suffice it to say, spending cash was in order.
Last night, David and I agreed that $10 would be sufficient to see him through the day. Unlike his mother, he's not the type to spend his money on frivolous things at a cheesy gift shop, so I was not at all concerned that he'd blow the whole wad. I slightly patted myself on the back for remembering to slip a $10 bill into his backpack before I went to bed last night.
This morning, as we were preparing to head downstairs for breakfast, I pointed out to him the specific location of the said $10 bill. He looked at it, looked at me, and sighed dramatically.
"What's wrong?" I asked him. "It's right here, all ready to go."
"Well, I ..." he began, and hesitated. "I ... um ... I really wanted it in two $5 bills."
Excuse me?
"OH! I see!" I replied. "This is not good enough for you? Really?" And then launched into a mini lecture about how, for many families in our community, $10 is a whole hell of a lot of money.
Out came the $10 from his backpack; I tucked it into my back pocket and invited David to think for a few long, hard minutes, about the selfish tone he invoked.
I went downstairs to get breakfast going, fuming all the way. And it occurred to me. The kid really, REALLY does not need $10, and he certainly did not prove himself deserving of it this morning. While I don't want to make my children feel absolutely guilty for every treat they receive, nor do I want to inflict doom and gloom on them at every turn, I do want them to grow into people who have a genuine appreciation for the value of a dollar, and how precious money is to so many families out there who cannot even afford to put dinner on the table every night.
When David came downstairs, I continued our chat.
"I have two things to inform you of," I began. "One, you're getting $5, not $10."
"Second, you will be having the breakfast they serve at school today, so that you can have a sense of what it's like for the little kids who are on the free lunch program every day of the school year ... the kids who don't have the luxury of saying, 'I don't like this! I don't want to eat it!'"
"Oh, you'll have whatever they are serving for lunch tomorrow and Friday, too."
Dead silence.
"I don't understand what I did wrong," he said, downcast.
"David, here's the thing. $10 is a lot of money for so many people. For you to reply to me that the $10 I was sending you to Newport Dunes with was not 'good enough' or not broken down into the small bills you prefer is nothing short of selfish. Does that make sense?"
Long pause.
"Yes."
Now, I didn't explain to him that breakfast and lunch served at day camp were already paid for, available to all kids, and just part of the enrollment package.
Meantime, Elizabeth sat back and watched, enjoying the show and wondering whether she should call a bookie.
Off we drove to school. When I dropped him off in the Multipurpose Room at Mountain View Elementary, I pointed out the refrigerator holding the milk, and breakfast options (graham crackers, muffins and granola bars) on the table. "There's your choices, buddy."
Then, he realized he left his sack lunch that I'd prepared for his field trip in the car. I trotted back to the Honda, and when I returned to him, he was happily munching on a chocolate chip muffin and sipping chocolate milk. Huge smile on his face.
"Chocolate chip!" he declared. "It's good."
I hugged him tightly and planted a firm smooch on the top of his head, and wished him a fun, safe and wonderful day.
I heaved a heavy sigh when Elizabeth and I got back in the car, and as we drove to her day care center, I could only hope that David both understood how much I genuinely want both him and his sister to have compassion and humility, but also to be able to make mistakes, learn from their errors, and not worry about being kids.
