DON'T TALK ABOUT MONEY
When I was a kid, asking an adult how much money they made was worse than asking who they voted for. Ahhh, the 90s. Nowadays, everyone is repping their Bernie 2020 shirt and fighting online about it. But … we’re still not talking about money.
Money is a curse word.
When I was a kid, I wanted a house. I didn’t want a house for the reasons I wanted it as I became a teenager: a desire for increased privacy and … uh … privacy. I wanted a house because I wanted a dog more than anything. And we lived in a no pet building. A house was the only way to get a dog.
But kids are stupid. Have you ever sat down with a kid and been like, “How much do you think this hamburger costs?” They’ll say, “$10,000.” But if you ask them what a house costs, they’ll say, “$2.00.” This is because kids are stupid and have no concept of money. But it doesn’t need to be that way.
But it IS that way. Nowadays, we’re free to discuss politics openly, in front of kids, at the dinner table, at school, at parties. It is How. They. Learn. But when it comes to that cold hard chingle chingle, we still treat discussing money as a taboo. Probably because we, as adults, are just as uncomfortable discussing it now as our parents were when we were kids.
Lucky for me, when I asked my mom why we didn’t have a house, her explanation was simple. “I don’t make enough to afford a house.” My logical question as a seven year old was, “Well, how much do you make?” My mom told me. I tried to figure out the numbers in my head. It seemed to me like a house could be paid off in just a few short years! So … why not buy one?
Well, because, idiot. There are other expenses. There are condo fees, car payments, insurance bills, gas, food, clothes, entertainment, vacations. TAXES! “What are taxes?" I asked. I was answered. I was never told to shut up and go to my room. I was never told it was rude to ask that question (unless it was directed at strangers). The rationale behind the inability to purchase a house was explained.
I began to understand how money worked. If I wanted a toy, I had to earn it. I put up signs in my building’s laundry room advertising cat sitting services (despite my allergy to cats). I hung up signs in the neighborhood advertising dog walking. In the winter, I shoveled cars. I opened a savings account. And occasionally, when it was time to make a big purchase item, my mom offered to split the cost with me, so I could save the other half. That felt like an even bigger gift than just getting another video game.
But something else started to happen. I liked the idea of saving more than I liked the idea of acquiring. After all, unless I was OBSESSED with one video game in particular, all of my friends had the same games. I could just go to their house. I’d rather have the money in my account. $3000 became $2940 if I had to buy a new video game. And $2940 just wasn’t as clean as $3,000.
I suppose the natural segue here is to talk about having kids of our own. If you follow some basic tenants of minimalism, which I hope you do, I would caution being too dictatorial with your kids. The obvious fear would be that being overly strict on embracing minimalism could spur on a future consumer whore who lashes out as an adult because they felt deprived and punished as kids.
A balance, I suppose, as a non-parent who is about to lecture all parents who read this, would be to explain that there is no gravy train, so the toys you have must be taken care of for several reasons: One, they are expensive. Two, they are bad for the environment. Three, it is a waste of money. The reward would come from choosing two of the five toys they want, reminding them that they’ve already got several toys that go unplayed with. So, learn to pick and choose wisely. And, at some point, if they tire of the current toy, it can be recycled or donated to a charity, so they may pick another. This is the one in, one out rule of minimalism.
If you’re wondering, we never got that house and I never got that dog, but I got something way more valuable (except for the fact that houses back in the 90s were going for $350,000 and now they go for $1,500,000): I learned how money worked, I learned to save, and I learned to be a discerning spender, not a consumer whore.
So, next time your kid asks how much you make, don’t tell them it’s rude and private. All that does is put them on the path to being eternally frightened, timid, insecure, and confused about money.
