Financial Literacy Is Required Reading

I remember riding my bike to work at 5:40 in the morning for my new summer job. I got hired at 15 and a half to work in the produce department of a local grocery store. It was close to where we lived so the bike ride wasn't too bad. Plus, early summertime mornings growing up in Visalia, California, were quite warm, but still the coolest part of the day. I worked a split shift -- I'd work from 6:00 to 10:00 AM and then come back and work from 3:00 to 7:00 PM. Each week that summer I worked 35+ hours, ultimately saving enough for my first car. I worked part-time during school and then again nearly full-time the following summer. 

This is the second summer that our oldest Beatrice has worked nearly full-time as a camp counselor at a summer day camp. Like I did way back then, she rides a bike to work early, around 7:10 each morning, although one big difference is that she rides an electric bike. The electric bike I bought a few years ago that I thought I'd use a lot more but ultimately did not. At least Beatrice is ensuring we're getting our money's worth. She doesn't work a split shift like I did, working straight through to 3:00 PM.

Beatrice is "making bank" as the saying goes and she's saving money, not spending it all. She even has a savings CD for goodness' sake. Her mom Amy and I never did that growing up. We spent it all! Yes, I saved and bought my first car, but that was about it back then. 

Beatrice isn't buying a car anytime soon, but she is going for her driver's permit later this year. When that happens, that'll open a whole new world of car insurance calculus for us. Our insurance will go up at least 30% once she starts driving. Thankfully she's not in a rush to drive, and neither are we, at least until she starts college.

Since Beatrice has been working and making bank, Bryce wants some of that action now, too. But they're only turning 15 this year, and there aren't many jobs they can legally work at that age. The Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk offers jobs for 14+ years old, but neither Beatrice nor Bryce have been interested in that. Bryce loves going thrifting with Amy, so that's of interested once they hit 15 and a half, to work at a thrift store. 

The adulting is here. Financial literacy and fiscal responsibility are practices we've worked to instill in both Beatrice and her sibling Bryce. It started when the bank of Mom and Dad set up payment plans for iPads they purchased, taking part of their allowance each week until the devices were paid off. Allowances that they have actual chores to do to earn. And they do them. Not without parental reminders and cajoling at times, but they get them all done. We also occasionally negotiate the current set of chores for each, which we don't have a problem doing, as long as the sets don't decrease in activities. 

Both kids have mutual fund accounts we started for them, and again, Beatrice has a savings CD. Having their own money to spend is exciting and freeing, especially for Bryce, which is why we're emphasizing savings more emphatically. Something that Mom and Dad didn't do very well at that age. We also don't want them to spend more than they have and get overextended on credit (something that I screwed up in adulting). And now that the world of work is being transformed by continuous economic upheaval, artificial intelligence, and more, financial literacy is required reading in our house. 

It Always Burns a Hole

"Big money make a million dreams
Big money spin big deals
Big money make a mighty head
Big money spin big wheels..."

–Rush, Big Money

Because it always burns a hole in their pockets. The moolah. The cheddar. The dough. The cash so hot its molten gravity opens up the earth and speeds toward the glowing core to super-ignite and annihilate the universe.

Or, more accurately, it wants to head to a nearby store. For new toys or treats and other random crap. The girls have been earning their own money, kind of, off and on for the past year, maybe more. The Mama (what I lovingly call my wife) helped them identify something to do -- fold the clothes, unload the dishwasher, wipe off the counters, feed the bunny, unpack their backpacks, etc. I bring the air support, kind of, reminding them to do their tasks if they want to earn the designated amount of money.

The money that burns a hole in their pockets. But we have to start somewhere.

For me, it all started as a child around eight years old with a $0.25 weekly allowance. That's one quarter per week for my sister and I helping our mom around the house. Yes, it was a long, long time ago, and we did grow up with very little extra money -- just enough to barely make ends meet. But, our mom did want to instill in us a sense of responsibility and reward. And after a few weeks, that amount of money went a lot farther back then at drugstores (five and dimes) like Thrifty's and Woolworth's.

Wow, do any of these kids today even know what five and dime means? I know, right? Probably not. Our kids certainly don't. However, they do know the dollar stores, and that's a place where a dollar can still go a long, long way.

Then, with our crazy and abusive first step-dad, my sister and I got a dollar per week allowance -- but, we'd get demerits, money subtracted from our allowance if we did something wrong and/or didn't complete our chores around the house. My poor sister got the brunt of this punitive approach, sometimes ending up with a deficit that ate away at future allowances.

I'm lifetimes away from those days now, and the Mama and I haven't and won't take that approach. We're fortunate to have a little extra cash to spend on our kids than either of us had as children. And that's why we want them to learn the value of earning their own money that they can spend on whatever they want. Within reason.

Which is why the Mama brought home an idea from a friend about "saving, giving and spending" money. This means that we'll have them save a portion of their allowance, give away a portion of their allowance to help others, and to then spend a portion of their allowance -- the part they're most excited about, of course. We've been talking about establishing a more regular allowance for both girls based on completing weekly tasks, at least one to two tasks each per week (I want two, but the Mama says let's get them consistent on one first). And then they could earn extra if they did even more, beyond the allowance task/s and the everyday things they have to do anyway, something the Mama and I didn't exactly agree on (another story for another time), but have worked through.

Now each week they'll get six dollars each week (I know, right?) for allowance for completing their tasks/chores/whatever you want to call them. And each week they have to put at least $1 in each of the "save" and "give" envelopes we've designated for them, and then the balance can go into the "spend" envelope, which they can use at the dollar store, or for bigger ticket items when we go to Disneyland over Christmas.

It's funny, because our oldest, Beatrice, just watched a commercial about Universal Studios and celebrating the holidays at Harry Potter World. I said we'd go there someday, even if she didn't care for Harry Potter (I know, right?).

"But I do want to go," she said. "Let's go there."

"No, we'll go there someday," I said. "But we're going to Disneyland again this year. It costs a lot of money to go to these parks. Guess how much it costs just for our Disneyland tickets."

"Um...a million dollars," Beatrice said, amused with herself.

"No, not quite. Try again."

"Twenty-thousand dollars."

"Nope."

"Twelve thousand dollars."

"Nope. Not that much. Goodness, we wouldn't even go once for that much."

"I don't know then."

"One thousand and five hundred dollars for all four tickets. So you better start saving."

"I'm already saving for the girl Stitch stuffed animal at Disneyland. You have to pay for the rest."

Of course we do. I know, right?

Because it always burns a hole in our pockets. A really big friggin' hole. And we're grateful we can afford the hole. For now, at least. Which is why we also do our best to practice what we preach, with the saving and the giving, especially coming back from the brink of oblivion during the great recession, still not so long ago, like so many others have done.

Yes, it always burns a hole, this fragility of finance, and yet the economy is humming again. For now, at least. Teaching our children financial responsibility is serious business.

"Big money got a heavy hand
Big money take control
Big money got a mean streak
Big money got no soul..."

This Nickel and Dime Time

Either you're in it comfortably, or it owns your ass. When you're in it, there's no sense of it, and your mindful presence can move freely about in all directions without worrying about direction. When it owns you, it's omnipresent and visceral and presses in on you from all directions with every direction being a painful reminder of where you've been and where you think you're going.

Or where you need to go. Like 15 miles at 30-35 miles per hour to eventually fly home from our Hawaiian vacation. Of course, first-world problems and all that, and we left in plenty of time to get to the airport on time, but it all started with the email alert.

The email alert from the airline saying to arrive at least 2.5 hours early because the security lines will be longer than usual (and you don't want to miss your flight). The parenthetical part of the previous sentence wasn't in the email alert, but they might as well have written it.

And that's when it owned my ass. "Amy, we need to leave a little earlier to make sure we get there in time."

"Don't worry, we will," she replied.

And we did leave a little early. Kind of. But the stretch of slow road with stop lights and the Hawaiian pace of "hang loose, brah" poked and prodded at my patience. The Mama, what I lovingly call my wife, doesn't have the same reactive behavior I display when it comes to time owning my sensibilities and flopping me back and forth on the ground like a baby playing with a new toy for the first time. Or the tenth time.

No, the Mama is quite the opposite, cool as as a cucumber, one of my least favorite vegetables in fact (insert tongue in cheek and head into butt). It was then the moments came like invisible poison darts from all directions and I squirmed in my seat and sighed audibly. I tried my best to be in the moment instead.

"I know I get stressed. But I know we'll get there just fine. Right?" I said to the Mama, not really all that convinced.

"Yes, Sweetie. We'll be fine."

But mile after slow mile flattened me like new gravities adding up while the Mama and the girls talked away about their favorite parts of vacation. I chimed in mechanically, but the poison from the imaginary time darts had already entered my blood stream and all I could think about was the nickel and dime time of all the little things that needed to be done that eats away at me like returning the rental car and then hauling all of us and our stuff onto the shuttle to the airport check-in and checking our bags and then slowly making our way through security where we could eat a quick bite before we boarded the plane and then me rushing the Mama and the girls to hurry up and eat and then the Mama saying don't rush me sweetie and that she wanted to take a quick look in the gift shop with the girls and then me saying they will close boarding at 10 minutes after the hour if we aren't there and her saying we'd be fine and my head swirling as if flushed down a toilet and then we all had to use the bathroom one more time and fill up our water bottles before heading to our gate and getting on the plane and sitting in our seats and the plane door actually closing 10 minutes after the hour just like I thought while I thought about the unsettled dreams I had just a few nights earlier about past do-overs that can never be done, and the waking lessons I want to leave my children with someday and the reality of vacation bills and work and saving money to do it all again next year while each year passing on more and more life lessons to the girls and their teenage angst-filled years to come and then paying for college if they go to college and then —

Breathe.

All of which would eventually happen as we turned onto the main airport drive and headed to the rental car return.

It can certainly own your ass, this nickel and dime time. I recommend cashing in on being in it when you can. Amen.

Back to School with Personal Responsibility 101

I know it’s been a long time since I’ve been in school, and Bea’s still a few years away from starting, but why aren’t there these classes required in high school AND for those who attend college:

• Parenting 101
• Personal Finance 101
• Nutrition & Exercise 101

Mercy, there are so many other courses about religious studies and critical thinking and philosophy and non-essential garbage (most of which are in college, not high school), but why aren’t there classes on parenting, personal finance, nutrition & exercise?

And why aren’t more parents committed to changing this? Isn’t it bad enough that “sex education” is still so controversial in school these days with teenage sexuality and STD’s so prevalent?

Maybe most parents don’t know what they never missed. Sure, many of us turned out just fine and our kids most likely will as well, but I believe we can make more of a difference in the lives of our children and our children’s children.

And what about a Morality 101 class? Make it required as well along with Personal Responsibility 101.

When I was in high school there was a marriage and family class – that I didn’t take. It was seen as an easy ride to an “A” with a fake wedding at the end with cake and fanfare. I remember my high school counselor specifically telling me not to take the class.

I’m all about prevention prior to praying for help after the fact. My mother used to send us to Sunday school to pray for her and my birth father – to pray the violence would end.

Anger management 101? I’m in for that one too. (I’m non-denominational humanitarian with a 2-8 Enneagramarian temper and thousands of years of culturally and religiously sanctioned abuse and violence have got to go.)

If we could help prevent one domestic violence case or one child abuse case or one obesity case or one bankruptcy case – wouldn’t you be an advocate for these preemptive required classes?

If anyone knows of these types of required classes that exist today in public or private education, please let me know. I’m still too old school and would love to write about them.

Bea thanks you!