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The clever child earns an economic edge
"I've got a proposition for you ..."
A male voice in the middle of the night. My son, calling from college.
"I have this great new system for studying," booms through the air waves. "I go to the Catalyst three days a week and hit the books. Works a lot better than trying to study in the dorm."
"You can concentrate in a coffee shop?" is about all I can manage in my sleep.
"Yeah. I get a double-shot mocha with a squirt of caramel, and go at it for a while."
I wait for the rest.
"The mocha costs $1.75 ... I figured it out, Mom, for a semester of studying, it's only $150 bucks. Don't you think it's worth investing that, for good grades and all?"
Of course, this about money.
"I can't think at midnight, Sweety. Just keep studying and we'll talk about it next weekend."
Then I go back to sleep, marveling at my son's gift for creative manipulation. This time, John and I will have to invent a response that supports study and fiscal independence.
No wonder Peter's considering a major in finance. He's tenaciously attentive to economic status, and clever at improving his own. Furthermore, he knows that proposals to us must be custom designed to please academic-minded parents.
But, after 18 years of heeding frequent requests, and then watching Peter spend his own money on fast food, vacation trips, and trivia, we decided that college was the right time to make a transition. Fiscal responsibility would move from us to him.
We agreed to pay for tuition, room and board, plus textbooks and school supplies. The rest -- clothes, CDs, snacks, and entertainment -- would be up to him. "Fine," he said.
But Peter is near sighted, and the bottom line always looks fuzzy. So the first request was for laundry money. Then special soap. Then fraternity membership. Now mochas.
Dirty laundry is easier to resist than a liquid prescription for academic success. So clever of Peter to connect his coveted treat to our quintessential push to study. He has trouble confronting schoolwork, so naturally we want to support whatever study arrangement he can make -- if it works.
During the three days John and I have to mull it over, I take little Anna with me to pick up some things at the mall. "Will you buy me something?" That voice has a familiar ring. But I feel guilty dragging her around to do my Saturday errands. Of course she should have something for being so patient and --
Stop! A different voice screams inside. You're starting the cycle all over again. So I hesitate. Then decide Anna's old enough to have an allowance, so she can use her own money to buy things.
"Okay," she agrees. "I want that car over there, and the doggie from the other store."
What, no mocha with caramel? I shake my head.
The solution we come up with for Peter is similar, elevated to the college level. We tell him whatever's left of the money we deposited for books and supplies, can be used for other academic needs, such as study aids. When the money's used up, the rest is on him.
We're happy to support our son's effort in establishing a study routine, while holding to the original fiscal limit. Peter's happy because he gets (some) mochas.