Juggledude
11-09-2006, 11:55 PM
A friend asked me to write down my earliest impressions of money...
Monetary Mnemonics
3 years old? Surely no more than 4, as I gauge my age at this distant resolution by moments, not calendars. The moment that sets the chronology is playing with a friend, and remembering the total awe I felt when I realized his big brother was 6. Six! Wow, would I ever get to be so old?
Money, what is it? It’s a shiny round dime, which is useful for getting that musical truck to stop, and to have it produce a sweet, delicious ice cream. It’s a favor you ask of mom when you hear the loudspeakers playing the magic tune, and you watch her reach into the red leather wallet, producing with a “click” the mystical token of joy.
It’s the crushing shame you feel when, for whatever innocent reason, you have helped yourself to the token from the purse by the door, then mom asks where you got the money for that ice cream, young man? How could something so good be the cause of such grief?
Later, 6 or 10 years, as the indoctrination proceeds, the unwitting father sets the tone for a life of toil, listing chores and tasks to be completed, not for the good of the family and home, but for the promised allowance. Trade your sweat for dollars. Yet, if you use your big muscle, the one on top of your neck, the trade becomes sweeter, you can buy freedom and the ability to circumvent the no TV rule by buying my own damn TV, though it was still limited in duration, it was a significant accomplishment.
Asking my dad “how much money do we have in the bank” in 1976… $10,000 has been my magic savings goal at all times since, because heroes don’t adjust with inflation.
Royce
Monetary Mnemonics
3 years old? Surely no more than 4, as I gauge my age at this distant resolution by moments, not calendars. The moment that sets the chronology is playing with a friend, and remembering the total awe I felt when I realized his big brother was 6. Six! Wow, would I ever get to be so old?
Money, what is it? It’s a shiny round dime, which is useful for getting that musical truck to stop, and to have it produce a sweet, delicious ice cream. It’s a favor you ask of mom when you hear the loudspeakers playing the magic tune, and you watch her reach into the red leather wallet, producing with a “click” the mystical token of joy.
It’s the crushing shame you feel when, for whatever innocent reason, you have helped yourself to the token from the purse by the door, then mom asks where you got the money for that ice cream, young man? How could something so good be the cause of such grief?
Later, 6 or 10 years, as the indoctrination proceeds, the unwitting father sets the tone for a life of toil, listing chores and tasks to be completed, not for the good of the family and home, but for the promised allowance. Trade your sweat for dollars. Yet, if you use your big muscle, the one on top of your neck, the trade becomes sweeter, you can buy freedom and the ability to circumvent the no TV rule by buying my own damn TV, though it was still limited in duration, it was a significant accomplishment.
Asking my dad “how much money do we have in the bank” in 1976… $10,000 has been my magic savings goal at all times since, because heroes don’t adjust with inflation.
Royce