The First National Bank of Grandparents

I had wonderful parents who taught me you don’t get something for free. You have to work for what you earn. People don’t like to give handouts, and it’s not good to live off of handouts. I’m wondering what happened to those people? Apparently, when you become a grandparent philosophies change.
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If I approached my father to ask for money when I was a kid – by “kid”, I mean through college years – his typical response would have been, “Get a job!” Especially as I entered my teen years. In fact, the lecture became, “If you want money, you have to get a job. I’ll give you money if you can just demonstrate the responsiblity of holding down a job. Doesn’t matter the hours you work or what you get paid. Just get a job!”

I did get that first job, working at the Moweaqua Dry Cleaners. The job was a full 3 hours a week – Saturdays from 9 am to Noon. I didn’t actually do any dry cleaning. I simply manned the counter in case people came in to pick up their dry cleaning. If someone dropped off clothes to be cleaned I did have to pin and tag whatever was brought in. Though, it was Moweaqua, so we pretty much knew what clothes belonged to which person. And the owner sometimes left the clothes cleaned Friday on hangers for me to bag. (And to this day I’m proficient at bagging clothes on a hanger.) I had a little TV for watching cartoons, could do weekend homework, and occasionally even took a nap. But, dad said ANY job would satisfy him. Obviously, the expectations got clearer for my next job. And don’t feel sorry for my dad in this…these things get corrected over time – I got a couple kids who play on those same “fine print” details. Paybacks and all.

My second job was working the restaurant at the bowling alley. Not a big operation. The bowling alley only has 10 lanes and the restaurant was comparable. I worked from supper through close a couple nights a week. This includes running the grill, dishes, taking orders, running orders out to the lanes. I did it all. Ladies’ league night was considered the “light night” because women didn’t eat as much as the men’s leagues or kid’s league. But, I didn’t mind and loved to work those nights. A teen guy who knows how to compliment women who could be his mother can pull in a lot in tips. (“You’re looking young tonight.” “Do people confuse you and your daughter as sisters?” “You look so thin, you should have a piece of pie tonight!”) They may only be ordering a cup of coffee, but back then a good compliment could land a “Keep the change” from $1 for a 30-cent cup of coffee. You gotta know how to work the system.

Summer always brought different job opportunities. The big money was in detasseling corn and walking beans. Miserable jobs, but provided the money with which I bought my first cassettee/radio boombox. One year I used the money to purchase my own bedroom set of furniture. (Which, because I bought it myself, went with me and was even the bedroom set for Deana and I for years.)

The other summer jobs were lawn mowing. Between church and bowling alley contacts, I had the widow lawn route. Those jobs ran one of two ways – either they paid me a grandparently generous wage or based on a pay-scale from the depression era. They always had an ample supply of lemonade on hot days, and insisted on taking breaks so I didn’t overheat. I always sat down and talked afterwards, which I enjoyed (typically) as much as they did.

One on my “widow lawns” was a double lot with a very small house. After mowing it a couple weeks I realized my pay – it was always “give me whatever you want” – didn’t even cover the cost of gas for her yard. I talked to my parents and they told me to never mention the cost and accept what I was given. It ate into my mowing profits, and by this point dad was wise to my ways and had changed to “you live off what you earn.” Looking back, I’m sure they knew more about the financial condition of that lady and it probably figured into their advice. Mom and dad explained that we didn’t work just for money. Hard work, no matter what you earn, builds character. Which brings me back to my initial inquiry…what happened to those people?

Now they’ve turned into the First National Bank of Grandma and Grandpa. The grandkids show up and mom and dad are likely to hand them money just for being so cute. So much for “working for what you earn builds character,” now it’s “anyone want to give grandma a hug for a dollar?” Maybe it has something to do with retirement. Maybe you get out of the workplace environment and forget about work and paychecks. Or maybe it’s just senility. It’s like a contest all grandparents are involved in to see who can spoil their grandchildren the most.

It also applies to the little jobs they pay their grandchildren to do. Jobs didn’t pay around the house when I was growing up.
Young Me: “Hey, dad, can I have $10 for mowing the lawn today?”
Dad: “Ten dollars?! Do you think money grows on trees?”
Me: “It was 90 degrees outside and it took me two hours.”
Dad: “If you’d have gotten started at 4 AM it wouldn’t have been hot yet, and it takes you two hours because you mess around so much. In fact, I should charge you $10 for unnecessary wear and tear on the lawn mower.”

Oh, how times have changed…
Grandma: “Grandson, will you carry that bowl you used from breakfast from the table to the sink?”
Grandchild: “OK. Here you go. Is that a paying job?”
Grandma: “Sure. How much do you need for that video game you’re saving for?”
Grandchild: “$20.00″
Grandma: “Here’s $40. It’ll help cover tax.”
Grandchild: “Grandma, you’re the best ever. I don’t believe any of the stories daddy tells about how mean you were when he was little.”
Grandma: “You’re so sweet. Here’s an extra $20. Be sure to wave it all in your dad’s face when you walk past him.”

My kids get paid $10 for sweeping the porch grandpa just swept 20 minutes ago. Or a dollar a pine cone they pick up in the yard. I spent the day during our last visit sweating like crazy and nearly losing a finger trimming the forty little shrubs they have scattered around the yard. What did I get paid? “Let us treat you to supper at the bowling alley restaurant for all your work.” They’re still using the same grill up there, and I know how poorly I cleaned it 25 years ago. Yech! No thanks. How about a thousand-dollars? I’m saving for a motorcycle.

My kids are conditioned. They arrive at grandma and grandpa’s and immediately ask if they have any paying jobs. Sometimes my parents create new jobs just so they have a reason to pay the kids. “I’ve got money for any grandchild who wants to burp all the tupperware in the fridge and make sure it’s sealed properly!” I volunteer; am told it’s only a job for a grandchild, then roll my eyes.Are all grandparents this way? Maybe. I don’t know whether this is some form of socialized-grandparenting or a way of getting back at your kids for how terrible they were when they were young and living at home. I do know my children have two sets of grandparents. Both sets worked hard to make sure their own children knew the value of a dollar, the value of hard work, and the value of what it means to earn something. Now they seem intent on teaching their grandchildren the value of having generous grandparents in your life.
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There’s still hope. I can still turn this system to my advantage. My parents are coming to visit this month to celebrate JJ’s birthday. I’ve told JJ to offer to wash their car. I provide the buckets, water & soap. Whatever he gets paid we spit. Sounds like a plan to me.