My son had his tenth birthday party and ended up with a whopping $50 in cash and gift cards, making him basically a millionaire in kids' terms. After adding up his bounty, he immediately asked me to take him to the store so he could buy a video game.
Naturally, I did the fatherly thing and suggested he save the money for future things: college, family, retirement. I even suggested investing in stocks.
When I was his age I remember blowing all of my birthday money on a copy of "Street Fighter II" for my Sega Genesis. I played that game like crazy for a few months. Then it got old, and I moved on. Had I invested that money in, say, Microsoft, I’d probably be a happier, wealthier man right now. I mentioned all of this to him, and naturally he looked at me as though I'd suggested he light the money on fire.
Nothing I suggested was particularly sexy or exciting, and so we ended up in front of the video game case looking for some "Pokémon" game that I can't pronounce — or spell, probably.
They didn’t have the game, naturally, so I had to coach him through how to inquire with the store clerk. He was a man in his late twenties with tattoos of the Mario Brothers and game consoles on his arms. He was balding and had that “I work at a video game store; this has always been my life goal” disposition.
He was the kind of guy I probably would have looked up to at the age of 10. But now, as a father, I hope my son strives for larger and grander goals. Not that there is anything wrong with working at a video game store for the rest of your life, I'd just rather my son be the next CEO of a major company, or an astronaut, or the president of the USA.
To me, he has huge, massive, potential.
I think a lot of fathers feel this way about their sons, and that’s why, when your child gets a wad of cash on their birthday, you tell them to spend it wisely. You advise them on all the ways you could have done this or that with your money, because you are old enough to look back and wonder if you actually reached your full potential. You question a lot of how you spent your time as a child, and how you spent your money.
However, all my anxiety over his future went away as I looked at his face while we waited for the video game guy to check the inventory.
Tristan stood next to the register, anxiously tapping the toes of the beat-up Nikes he refuses to throw away, half a smile on his face, his hair a little messed up in the back.
As I looked at him, I thought about how I did the same thing a million times as a child.
There's something so gratifying about getting a little money and then blowing it on something stupid at the store. And although I really wanted him to save the money and make the adult decision, I totally understood why he was at the store, excitedly waiting for the clerk to come back with some silly thing that won’t matter in six months. Right then, it was a really big, exciting deal.
The fact is, as much as teaching my son to save his money is part of my job as a father, blowing your birthday money is as an equally huge part of being a little boy.
I suppose it’s a two-way street. My job as a father is to teach him responsibility; to love him, guide him, and hope for the best. His job is to live and learn, sometimes from my advice, and sometimes through trial and error.
So we bought the game. He opened it in the car and told me all about how cool it was. I listened. I asked questions. We laughed. And the moment we got home I pulled the ultimate-fatherly move by making him clean his room before he could play his new game.
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