Everything Girl

From street corner Santas to political organizations, it seems everyone is looking for donations at this time of year. This essay from guest contributor Kimberlyn Crowe looks at how we teach our children to give, no matter the season.

Recently, in my role as the treasurer for my church, I attended the fundraising track of a leadership conference. One of the things the speaker, Wayne B. Clark, addressed was how we perceive money and the value we attach to it beyond its actual function. Many buzzwords and catch phrases were tossed about, including the term joyful giving I’m sure there was also other, deeper information, but in truth, I can’t actually remember exactly what was said, because I was reeling from a personal revelation: I had stopped my child from being a joyful giver.

Allow me to explain…

For my son Stuart’s first Christmas, my mother gave him a large ceramic piggy bank that she had hand-painted. Over the years, we’ve tossed our odd change into it, and each week, fifty cents of his allowance goes into this “long term savings account.” After nearly 8 years, that piggy bank has gotten pretty heavy.

Each year, Stuart’s school does a fundraising drive called Common Cents, where the kids bring in whatever spare change they can cadge off their parents and other grown-ups who tend to accumulate change everywhere. He came home from school the day the collection was announced and was really excited. His eyes were wide, bright, and happy because he had a plan - a brilliant plan: “Just wait till you hear, Mom!”

Stuart wanted to donate his entire piggy bank to Common Cents.

“Oh, no, honey! You don’t want to do that! That’s all your savings!” exclaimed his horrified parents.

“Yes, I do,” he said, now faintly bewildered. “It’s my money; I want to give it away.”

We stood firm. We were not about to let him drain his piggy bank that had taken years to fill. He was disappointed that he couldn’t implement his brilliant plan.

And that bright, happy light in his eyes went away.

Of course, we weren’t completelyheartless. We let him empty the piggy bank to sort out the pesky little pennies that nobody really wants and use those for his Common Cents donation. As a bonus, that would free up more room for the quarters, nickels, and dimes, we told him. We even helped him sort it all out and put the “important” change back into the piggy bank.

He was suitably mollified and we patted ourselves on the back for being good parents. After all, we were teaching our child the value of money and fiscal responsibility. We had certainly saved him from certain financial ruin at the tender age of 8. (You have to teach them early, you know.)

Over the course of the week, we found an old cache of pennies in a plastic bottle and magnanimously allowed those to go off to school, as well. We even expended a bit of energy locating a few piles of loose change here and there around the house and let him have those, too. What good parents we were! We told him “no” but found a suitable compromise. Everyone was happy! End of story about how Parents Know Best and Children Don’t Know The First Thing About Money.

Except…

Something about our decision from the Parental Heights Of Knowledge And Experience had niggled at my conscience ever since.

I wasn’t sure why, really. After all, he was only 8, for pity’s sake. He couldn’t really understand what giving away all that change meant. I mean, it was all just change, but it was a lot of change. And besides, we are teaching him good stewardship: he donates to our church Building Fund from his allowance, and he knows we also donate to our church, and public radio and public television, and stuff like that. (By the way, remind me to show you my collection of National Public Radio coffee mugs!) Bottom line: we are the grown-ups. We know best. We have Plans for that piggy bank. That change adds up, you know. It’s going to fund his college education. And buy his first car. And make the down-payment on his first house….

Riiiiiiiiight.

That conscience-niggle ran smack-dab into the concepts I’d heard being presented in the workshop I mentioned, and resulted in a revelation that attacked the Parental Heights Of Knowledge And Experience with savage brutality.

How, exactly, was our son wrong? It was his money. If he wanted to give it away to a charity, why shouldn’t he? What a beautiful thing for a child to do! Give away all his money! What a little angel! (Parental remorse tends toward the dramatic.)

The next morning, on the way to school, I asked my son if he knew why we told him he couldn’t take all his piggy bank money and give it to Common Cents.

“No,” he said. He didn’t elaborate either. Such a telling silence.

“Well, let me ask you this: Why did you want to give all that money to Common Cents?” I was doing some verbal tap-dancing for time here, trying to figure out how to tell my kid that we were horrid, selfish, evil people and so totally wrong for not letting him squander his piggy-bank on some charity.

“So my class would win the contest and win a pizza party.” His tone implied that I had asked a very silly question and should have known he had a perfectly good reason.

That’s when I had my second revelation: My son AND his parents were right.

He wanted to give away his money, and that was a good thing. He had extra, there was a need and he could help. Moreover, he had absolutely no qualms about it - he had no attachment whatsoever to that money.

But we were right too (if only by default), because his primary motivation was the expectation of a reward for his gift. Since I was on the verge of confessing that his parents were horrid, evil, selfish people, I grasped that straw as only a parent desperate for the salvation of parental wisdom can do.

“Honey, that’s not a really good reason for giving, you know?” Not surprisingly, I got a puzzled look in response. To an 8 year-old, a pizza party is a darn good reason.

“Stuart, when we give money - or anything else - we give because we can. Because we have more than we need and we are lucky to be able to share. I’m so happy you wanted to share your piggy bank. It makes me feel really good to know that your spirit is so generous.”

He nodded. I know he wasn’t sure where I was going, and I wasn’t completely certain I did either. I had leapt off The Cliff of Parental Uncertainty, aiming at The Pool of Wise Parental Answers (it’s surprisingly small), and was depending on it not being closed for repairs at the moment.

“You school does Common Cents again in the Spring, doesn’t it?”

Another nod.

SPLASH!

“How does this sound: When your piggy bank is too full to take another dime, we’ll let you decide what to do with the money. Because you are absolutely right: It’s yours. Until then, how about, from now on, you start putting some more of your allowance aside each week? You can put it in a special jar just for Common Cents, and, when it’s time in the Spring, you’ll have it ready to go.”

“Excellent!” (pause) “But, mom! What if the jar isn’t big enough to hold it all?”

“No worries, kid. We can find another jar.”

Kimberlyn Crowe lives in the Oak Cliff community of Dallas Texas with her husband, son and two cats, Frick & Frack. She masquerades as a call center tech support agent by day and is hopelessly addicted to knitting. She has red hair, blue eyes and says everything else (husband and child excepted) is subject to change.

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