Steve and I are going to start giving the kid an allowance. We’re thinking about 5 dollars a week which seems like the right amount. I’m not sure why, but it seems good. I’m excited about it – I like the idea of teaching her about money. I like that she’ll be able to spend it on whatever she wants and learn how fast it can go. I like the idea of continuing a legacy.
I got an allowance growing up. I don’t remember how much it was. I do remember that my sister and I got different amounts – she’s older; she got more. I never really agreed with that, as you can imagine, but I wasn’t going to argue. I learned early you don’t look an allowance horse in the mouth.
I also remember that whenever my dad got a raise at work, we got a raise in our allowance. Which looking back on now, I think is really cool. I’m sure there was a lesson tied to that somehow. I can specifically remember one time dad told us – during family dinner – that he had gotten a raise at work and therefore, we’d be getting an increase as well! My sister’s allowance was going from X to X+ and mine was going from Y to Y+! As you can imagine, there was much happiness at the dinner table.
Until.
Later I replayed the announcement and realized that while I was getting a 25 cent or so raise, my sister – who was ALREADY richer than I – was getting a 35 cent or so raise. This was upsetting to say the least. And in my mind, entirely unfair.
I knew my father well enough at that young age to know there was a right way and a wrong way to approach this. Approach it the wrong way and I would appear ungrateful, spoiled, and I would lose the raise all together. But! Approach it the right way and he would be understanding and sympathetic. Approach it the right way and he would realize his error and the gross injustice that had occurred.
This could go either way.
It was all in my hands.
I thought about it then applied a technique I has mastered. I stood in the hallway outside his bedroom and began to cry.
It wasn’t long until he peered around the corner at me. “What’s up kiddo?”
Through a series of glub glubs I explained my situation. He listened closely then got up and went to his open briefcase. He came back with a (humongous) calculator. He then proceeded to show me that although my sister technically got more money I got a higher percentage of a raise.
“See that?” he asked showing me a point something something on the calculator. “You actually got a BIGGER raise than she did!” He said this with a smile. He even sort of dropped his voice a little like we were in ca-hoots and getting away with something. “How about that!”
See, my father was a salesman. And all good salesmen know how to turn a situation around to make it look like it is in your best interest. He knew me having a bigger raise than my big sister would appeal to me. He knew the idea of he and I having a secret would appeal to me. He knew that I was often razzle-dazzled by a calculator. And I have to admit, it was a good try. However, he forgot something very important.
Never underestimate your audience.
“But Daddy,” I said, having dried the tears by this time and pointing to the calculator, “I can’t take that number to the store and buy more candy with it.”
I got my extra 10 cents.
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