(No, Dear Hearts, I'm not selling anything).
Dear Hearts, Happy New Year -- again!
You may be wondering why money is the topic for my first blog of the year.
Why not well wishes, a sweet blessing, and good juju like everyone else on social media?
Dear Hearts, it goes without saying that I do want all good things for every one of you.
However, for one thing, moolah is probably on the minds of many / most / perhaps even all of you out there; especially if you overspent during the holidays, or put holiday spending on credit, and now the bills are about to arrive. If so, no judgement from the Happy Heart Writer. I did that once way back in the day. Once. Once was enough.
Spending notwithstanding, I am reminded of a lesson I learned from my Dad regarding the value of a few nickels and dimes, hard work, and multiplication of said change:
With my husband away serving a two week commitment in the Navy Reserves, my young children and I were visiting my parents. It was summer; unbearable heat and Midwest humidity ruled the day (IYKYK).. My son, who was six years old at the time, began to pester me for twenty-nine cents so he could walk to the local hardware store and buy one of those little easy to assemble hand launch glider planes which consist of a flimsy fuselage and two wings -- easy to put together, fly, crash, and /or disassemble,
Since he had been nickel-ing and dime-ing me all summer for the latest cheap thing he could find, I declined his meager request.
Being a determined child, he didn't give up. His tenacity has always been a positive character trait for the most part. But not today. He knew better than to throw a fit or become demanding; however, he chose to pepper me with questions -- very reasonable questions, I might add; at the moment, I felt like it would be easier to discipline a temper tantrum, but we had taught our kids to appeal a decision if they didn't understand, as long as they did it with a proper attitude.
So the questions ensued.
"Why?" "It's only twenty-nine cents." "Do you even have twenty-nine cents?" he queried as he climbed into my lap and cuddled.
I gave him my reasons, yet he still persisted, probably hoping I would cave. I'm positive my husband would have handled the situation in the same manner.
Finally, my Dad intervened. "Mind if I step in?" he gently asked me.
"Please do," I wearily responded.
Dad looked my son in the eye and proposed the following: "I'll make you a deal."
My son, wide-eyed at this statement, immediately and eagerly met my father's gaze.
Dad had him at "deal".
"I'll lend you my push broom," said Dad. "Go four houses up to the Barrington's" [not their real name].
"Go to the door. Knock on it and tell them you're my grandson," he continued . "They know me very well and have one of the few chat driveways in the neighborhood. Offer to sweep the chat from the street back on to their driveway for twenty-five cents.. Do a good job. Then come back here and I'll match your quarter with another. You'll have more than enough for your airplane." With that, my son hopped off of my lap and with the enthusiasm of an adult who had just won a lottery jackpot exclaimed, "Okay!"
"And bring my broom back!" my Dad called after him.
Off he went, my six year old son walking up the street, huge push broom in tow as he dragged it behind him since it was too heavy to lift and carry.
Some time went by. I glanced at the clock and to my surprise and chagrin, my kid had been gone for two hours! Somewhat concerned but secretly believing he had become distracted from his assigned task and found some kids to play with, nevertheless, I set out to look for him.
I didn't get very far when here came my little boy -- hot, sweat pouring from his reddened face, dragging my Dad's broom behind him.
"Let's get you some water, buddy," I said to him. "What took so long? Was the job bigger than you'd anticipated?" Grinning from ear to ear, he shook his head no.
When we stepped inside the house, he dutifully took Dad's broom downstairs to the basement and placed it where it belonged.
Then he came back upstairs, went straight to my father and held out his hands. In it were eight quarters. He had gone around the neighborhood and found seven more houses with chat driveways who paid him a quarter to repeat what he had accomplished at the Barringtons, utilizing them as a reference from a "satisfied customer" to the other homeowners.
My father has always been proud of his four children, their spouses, and his grandchildren. But I'm not sure I've ever seen him more proud of anyone than he was of my son that day.
Pulling two crisp dollar bills from his wallet, this wise grandfather handed the money over. "Here you go. Well done." he said, shaking my boy's small hand.
The kiddo went straight to the hardware store and purchased two of the toy gliders -- one to give to a friend and one for himself. He saved the remaining amount. And a grateful mother is pleased that a wise grandfather's lesson remained indelibly inked on his grandson's lifelong habits.
Here's the "Deal", Dear Hearts: Even though money can be an issue (who among us hasn't struggled, are struggling, overspent, have faced unexpected hardships, or have royally messed up?), it doesn't have to be complicated. A willingness to work -- with integrity, wise management, a bit of giving, and engaging someone or some organization to help us increase is really all we need.
And so, consider this true tale my well wishes, blessing, and good juju.
Have a Happy, Wise, and Prosperous Year!!
All Good Things,
Happy Heart Writer