This past week Sam had a "job" taking care of the neighbor's cat while they were away. Yet, as you may have guessed, the reality was in fact a totally different story. Yours truly was the one taking care of the neighbor's cat while they were away, and Sam came along with me. That's totally fine -- he's eight. It's a good learning experience for him on responsibility, reliability, and all that. Anyway I'd be willing to do it for free, but Sam is all about the money these days, spending it in his head way before he has received it. The neighbors are very kind to indulge him.
Sam has strong delegating skills. That's a nice way of putting it anyway. It was more like this, "Hey, why don't I go home now, and you can stay and lock up and all that stuff?"
In response to that, I borrowed a line from his beloved first-grade teacher. "Wait, who's getting paid here?" I asked. "Am I the one getting paid? Awesome!"
Needless to say, he then wanted to take care of everything because he wanted all the riches to himself. After a few days, he insisted on going over there over all by himself. That required him to do several things. He had to get the newspaper, unlock three doors, feed and pet the cat, lock back up, and then come home. Although I was mighty skeptical, he managed to do it all. I was highly impressed but peppered him with questions to make sure everything was OK over there, especially the cat having enough food and water.
He passed all the questions brilliantly until the last one. That's when I asked, "So did you lock up OK, too?"
He looked blankly at me.
I said, "You have to lock the doors again when you leave."
He said with a shrug, "Oh, I didn't bother with that."
Within seconds I was headed on over there to investigate. Indeed, the chores were all done, but the place was wide open for the taking.
A few days later when the neighbors returned, they grossly overpaid him as usual. I joked with them, "Next time I am going to pay you not to pay him so much!"
Of course, Sam was thrilled. He was dancing around the driveway like he had won the jackpot, which he had for an eight-year-old. I started thinking that theoretically he should give me some money for the work I did as his tireless Chief-of-Staff. Obviously it wasn't that I wanted any of his money, but it was more the principle of learning to thank someone for helping you, being generous with money, and treating your employees well. (In my case, I was more of an indentured servant.)
Daddy Mac and I discussed it. Then Daddy Mac suggested to Sam that he buy something for me to show his appreciation for my help. Sam's jaw on the ground; he was NOT happy. So we explained the whole concept -- that he wouldn't have been able to do the job without my help, blah, blah, blah.
He relented grudgingly, mumbling, "Okay." He may as well have said, "Only if you're going to make me." Who knows? Maybe he did mumble it.
Trying to keep it light, I said, "You can take me to Sweet Frogs!" That was easy. I wanted him to know that it was the gesture was what mattered, not the amount of money that he spent.
There was silence.
So the next morning we were at the bus stop. (Of course I was hanging out there for my health and no other reason. It just happened to be at his pick-up time.) He declared, "At Sweet Frogs I'm not going to get anything. I don't want to spend the money." At least he was being honest, but I couldn't help yelping with laughter.
Then he continued, "And you better not get a big ice cream!" Oh man! I haven't laughed that hard in a long time. It was so tempting to make him go to Sweet Frogs with me and not get anything. Little did he know that Daddy Mac and I were already planning to pay for his, but not after that cheap-o attitude!
When he got off the bus that afternoon, he was all down in the dumps. He was trudging along like his second-grade life had fallen apart, one Lego at a time. Yes, I just so happened to be there at the bus stop for my health again. And it just happened that I was there right at that exact time his bus arrived.
Daddy Mac and I asked, "What's wrong?" We thought for sure something awful happened at school.
He blurted out, "We have to go to Sweet Frogs" as if it was summer school. Incidentally Sweet Frogs is usually his favorite place to go -- until he's buying.
Daddy Mac and I guffawed, but Daddy Mac got on his case, explaining to Sam that he wasn't showing any appreciation for all the help I had given him.
Apparently Sam finally got the message. Tearing up, he ran over to me, hugged me, and said, "I'm really sorry! Thank you!" And he meant it.
"That's OK," I said, and it was. I'd been paid in full -- that was sweeter than all the toppings at Sweet Frogs. But I would still love to watch him go there and not order anything.
LibbY
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