My children don't understand the concept of money. I like to break it down for them by saying "I had to work 'x' hours to be able to afford those shoes for you!" Or, "Why did you leave this out in the rain? I worked 2 days in order to buy that for you!" I'm pretty sure this technique doesn't work. My daughter asked me where I was going one morning. I told her I had to go to work. "So you can buy me those two Disney princesses?" Ugh. Children are self-centered wallet suckers. I like to heap the guilt on them but my husband just wants them to have all the things he didn't have as a child. When our daughter loses 3 sets of Monster High doll hands, he simply buys her new dolls. Although he doesn't agree with her lack of reverence for small doll parts, it makes him happy to spend his money on his girl.
When I was in college in Athens, Ohio, I worked at a bookstore. My boyfriend (now husband) didn't like that I had to work to be able to afford hairspray, books and beer. He said he would help me through college if I quit my job and just focused on my schoolwork. I graciously accepted.
He worked a blue collar job at an iron foundry, but every quarter, he bought my groceries, incidentals, and my books. He handed me $200 at the beginning of one the quarters, just for books. $200 to me could buy so much more than a cardboard bound stack of papers; but I needed those books. I was grudgingly walking toward the bookstore when a head shop caught my eye. I thought to myself that I could splurge a little and buy some Nag Champa incense. I walked down the dark staircase and through the beaded curtain to the land of Grateful Dead t-shirts and one-hitters. Then I saw them: a leather pair of Doc Martens shoes. The price tag read $149. I couldn't afford them, but I had to have them. After a 30 second internal struggle, I grabbed the size 6.5, slid it out from underneath the stack of the rest, and laid it on the counter. Moonbeam rang it up and I effortlessly let the two one hundred dollar bills slide from my hand to hers.
I couldn't wait to show my roommates my shoes. Their response was not what I had anticipated. They weren't in awe of my shoes. Their lips were pursed. They didn't even want to see me take one more catwalk down the living room floor. Their response was cold, heartless, and...responsible. They sat me down and asked if I knew how hard my boyfriend has to work to afford the things I need.
Later that evening, my boyfriend asked if I got my books. "Not exactly" didn't go over well with him. What really drove him around the bend was that I bought shoes with his money. A few days later, he drove up to Athens to see me. He took me to dinner and to quarter draft beer night. In the morning, he put on his steel-toed boots and holey jeans. While I was sleeping soundly, he was driving 1 1/2 hours to work. While I was scrubbing my hand stamp ink off, he was punching his timecard. When I was putting my empty backpack on my shoulders, he was putting iron castings on an assembly line.
On the kitchen counter he had left an envelope with my name on it. Inside the envelope was $200.
When I was in college in Athens, Ohio, I worked at a bookstore. My boyfriend (now husband) didn't like that I had to work to be able to afford hairspray, books and beer. He said he would help me through college if I quit my job and just focused on my schoolwork. I graciously accepted.
He worked a blue collar job at an iron foundry, but every quarter, he bought my groceries, incidentals, and my books. He handed me $200 at the beginning of one the quarters, just for books. $200 to me could buy so much more than a cardboard bound stack of papers; but I needed those books. I was grudgingly walking toward the bookstore when a head shop caught my eye. I thought to myself that I could splurge a little and buy some Nag Champa incense. I walked down the dark staircase and through the beaded curtain to the land of Grateful Dead t-shirts and one-hitters. Then I saw them: a leather pair of Doc Martens shoes. The price tag read $149. I couldn't afford them, but I had to have them. After a 30 second internal struggle, I grabbed the size 6.5, slid it out from underneath the stack of the rest, and laid it on the counter. Moonbeam rang it up and I effortlessly let the two one hundred dollar bills slide from my hand to hers.
I couldn't wait to show my roommates my shoes. Their response was not what I had anticipated. They weren't in awe of my shoes. Their lips were pursed. They didn't even want to see me take one more catwalk down the living room floor. Their response was cold, heartless, and...responsible. They sat me down and asked if I knew how hard my boyfriend has to work to afford the things I need.
Later that evening, my boyfriend asked if I got my books. "Not exactly" didn't go over well with him. What really drove him around the bend was that I bought shoes with his money. A few days later, he drove up to Athens to see me. He took me to dinner and to quarter draft beer night. In the morning, he put on his steel-toed boots and holey jeans. While I was sleeping soundly, he was driving 1 1/2 hours to work. While I was scrubbing my hand stamp ink off, he was punching his timecard. When I was putting my empty backpack on my shoulders, he was putting iron castings on an assembly line.
On the kitchen counter he had left an envelope with my name on it. Inside the envelope was $200.
Atta boy Chris! Gotta have some respect for those who have it in their nature to provide.
ReplyDeleteGood Man.
ReplyDeleteHis love for you is amazing! And he wanted to provide for you as well.
ReplyDelete