"House Money”

In most houses (mine included) if a child finds a nickel or dime, it is theirs to keep. This “surprising wealth” and the promised trip to the candy store are part of what makes many childhoods filled with wonder. It does not take much to make a child’s eyes go wide! In my house, however, any money found was called “house money.” Because it was found in the house, it belonged to my parents. That was that. 

I asked my mom once if I could earn extra money doing chores. I was very eager to do some. “But you should be helping anyways,” she said flatly. “Yes, but extra chores!” At six, I really wanted to make my bed (none of us did that) and get paid a nickel. “We really can’t afford that,” said mom. Her answer was final. There were absolutely no jobs in the house for which I could be paid, even a nickel. 

In part because they were so desperately poor that they could not (perhaps if dad restrained himself from spending a small fortune on shrimp, crab, and specialty cheeses and chocolates for mom, to make her feel better when she was “stressed,” they could have afforded to pay their son a nickel now and then for jobs..) But even if they could afford it (and they definitely could, at many times...dad was usually stably employed, though their debts were always high..) they chose not to. Because why should they? I owed them after all, didn’t I?

One day our dishwasher broke. My dad refused to fix it, saying, “it’s you boys’ job to wash dishes. If you want it fixed, you fix it.” So it stayed broken, and the dishes piled up. Mom tended to do them more. The dishwasher was just one broken system in our home. 

When we were driving, the cars were always short on fuel. We were often stranded on the side of the road: ran out again. Why? Because everyone used it, few people put fuel in. Dad would say we were all takers. But he was no better. If I put in twenty dollars, he would think nothing of driving until it was all gone. “After all, you owe me. It is my truck after all.” So what incentive was there to save? To replace gas used? It was a system that penalized the honest, and rewarded the greedy. My parents were the worst if the lot. 

Now, my own children have money. They use it to buy games and toys and candy. Since I also sometimes enjoy their games, I will sometimes offer to pay half. Or pay the taxes. Or provide them with jobs to work towards a desired object. I am careful never to be dishonest. If there is doubt, i pay a bit more than what is fair. I never pocket some of their money. That would be stealing. 

Howeve, as they have grown I have become less generous. Precision in finances is the path to wealth, but round numbers leads only to ruin. 

The same applies to their things. At times, kids have objects that I find useful. I always ask, never demand to use my sons pocket knife, for example. If I lost it, I would replace it. I honour his request never to use a certain blade. Sonn my e of their things are off limits, and I do not ask for them. 

I have the feeling that my dad would come in my room anytime to use what was mine. After all, he gave it to me. So it’s really his. (No it’s not! That’s not how gifts work!) If he broke something of mine, he would get that distressed bothered look and stare off into the distance and say “don’t worry, I’ll fix it,” but I knew he never would. 

Best not to spend money on things my dad would want to use. Or use up. Because he would feel entitled to them. 

Or, he would seize the object, and threaten to smash it if we did not comply. It was dangerous to have a previous object. It could be snatched away for a trivial offence at any time. Dad always did have a knack for knowing just where to make us hurt. 

But for my own children, I think it is really good for them to learn to work for things. Much better than in my family, where we either stole or begged. My younger brother was consistently rewarded, because he was the most shameless in giving mom what she wanted: sloppy, adoring, fake, shameless love and affection. She would pay anything for that, and she often did: often right in front of her other two sons, who — even as young kids — had too high of principles to stoop that low. We would burn with anger at the little “mooch,” and he would pay later. Usually (in my memory) at my older brothers hands. He saw himself as bullied: we saw some sense of justice. But it was all dysfunction. Caused by greed and poor boundaries. 

Because kids have rights too. And when they have money, that money is part if their boundaries. 

There were times, too, when our parents would literally take our money. “This is to buy food,” they would say. And I, as a trusting child, believes them. But did they really need my $2.75? A small fortune to a child. But how far dies that go, really, in buying groceries? They were already thousands in debt, yet spent for things they prioritized. Why wasn’t teaching their kids stewardship, and allowing some of the simple joys of life a priority?

I can see, at this point, my mothers tear-stained face. “Yes, but things were really tight then! Your father was unemployed for a few years, consecutively, while you were young. Those years were really hard for us!”

True enough. Those were hard years. And I do remember them as years when my parents — scared kids, really — had some ounce of goodness in them. They were trying, anyways. 

But the patterns did not change when he became steadily employed. When they went bankrupt, cancelling their debts, then later had a government job, making good money. The balance was always tilted. When I doubt, the money slid towards them. 

There was a hole in our floor, and all the tiles leaned inwards. Better hold tightly to your coins, kids. If you let them fall, they will bounce and roll into the pot in the middle entitled “house money.”