“Mommy what is taxes?” And my little four-year-old said this in such a way, wide-eyed and apprehensive, that I knew he must have overheard an adult conversation. I was picking up various sizes of shoes and socks at the time of his question, none of these items were mine, why were my arms full of shoes and socks? I dropped them in a heap, right where I stood.
“Could you give mommy an hour or so and we will talk about taxes?”
He smiled, a smile that lit up his innocent face and the room he was in.
“Okay,” he said.
“Oh and honey, would you go through this pile, pick out your shoes, put them away and throw your socks in the hamper, please?”
He looked down at the shoes and socks, then at me and did as he was told, because at four, they almost always do, listen to you I mean. I left him to go find his two older brothers. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Doo were outside with their friends trying to hit tennis balls with a baseball bat over the neighbor’s houses.
A mother of young boys can compile a list of lectures the length of her arm every single day of the week, every single day.
“Hey guys!” I yelled. “Get over here.” Another disaster thwarted. I saw the oldest give the baseball bat to the middle one and they made their way over to the front door. Once I explained the laws of physics to my boys and their buddies, I sent them into house to sort through their shoes and socks as I had with Smiley, the four year old. I assured them it would take one minute and they would be back outside to play. But I would need them back in one hour for an early lunch. With three young boys, meeting opposition was an hourly occurrence so their protests went unheard.
“I will call you for lunch in one hour,” I said this as the older two ran to the pile grabbing shoes and socks with reckless abandon while the youngest, taking the job given to him seriously, was still there holding up a sock, studying it and trying to decide if it was his or not.
“Are we going to talk about taxes now Mommy?” He had blonde hair that bounced up and down when he ran after the ice cream truck, they grow up too fast.
“Well, I have a great idea and you can help me with it. We can talk taxes while we get stuff ready.”
I had an idea to teach my children the value of a dollar so while we gathered a few items and started to make lunch I explained to my little one about taxes. Taking into consideration his age, four, I told him that when someone has a job, they earn money, when they get paid some of the money that they earned goes to pay our firemen, policemen, teachers and the President. I didn’t lie to him I just simplified things.
The morning progressed and the lunch/meeting was called to order. I had my three boys around the kitchen table and handed each one an envelope with their name on it. I also produced an empty coffee can and placed it in the middle of the table.
“Gentlemen,” I said, “Things are going to change around here.”
I had their attention, because I had visuals.
“The three of you and I are going to come up with a list of jobs. Jobs for around the house for all of you to do.” I let their declaration of disapproval fall on deaf ears for about thirty seconds then I shushed them.
“It isn’t like you don’t have little jobs now, it’s just that I have to tell you to do them all the time, day after day. And to tell you the truth, I think you can remember some of this stuff. We are going to make a list for each of you and guess what the best part is? You’re going to get an allowance.”
