Unique Lessons In Finance For Kids

Unfortunately, finance is usually not high on the list of priorities when parents teach life’s lessons to their children.

When I was 8 years old my cousin Kit was 9 years old.

There’s a big difference in brain development in those young years. Somehow he was always getting the better of me.

I pointed this out to my parents and they said when I was around 80 and Kit was 81, it would turn around and I ‘d be happy about being a year younger — it seemed a long time to wait back then.

Kit was my main homie and we hung out every day in spite of the difference in street smarts. I DID learn something, pretty much, whenever I saw him.

Usually at a price.

My other friend, Carl Lawton was my age and we took advantage of each other equally.

One afternoon after school Carl taught me a game that was currently enjoying a lot of attention at Oakhurst Elementary — before it became outlawed.

Carl showed me the wall behind the school where there was about a 10 square foot of cement pavement that projected from the wall at street level. It was where the dumpsters were stored during the week. Cliff,the janitor, gradually filled them for Friday pickup.

Carl showed me that if you moved the dumpsters a little to the right, you had a clear stretch of pavement about 5 feet wide a 10 feet long. At any given time there were always a few students pitching pennies.

At Oakhurst, pitching pennies was: standing at the far end of the 5X10 swath of pavement and tossing coins with the intent of them bouncing off the wall but landing close to the wall. The gamer whose coin was closest to the wall after hitting the wall would take all the coins of similar value that landed further away.

I’m sure the reader can see how this game could quickly gain popularity at an elementary school.

You can also see some of the problems it can cause.

Lots of lunch money changed hands with no food being consumed.

Phone calls from irate parents to our venerable principal, Miss Voorhees, were increasing.

Miss Voorhees felt strong enough about the issue to have devoted a 10 minute segment of assembly on Monday morning to announce the severe repercussions that would befall anyone caught playing.

That didn’t put a stop to the contests, it simply moved the venue of the games.

The kids, now hooked, played everywhere there was a wall and a bit of sidewalk. Lots of places where ; A fool and his money could be soon parted.

At this developement of the game is when I learned how to play from Carl. He correctly observed the garage wall abutted the turn around space in my parent’s driveway. Perfect for pitching pennies!

Took him less than 5 minutes to explain the rules.

It took me, 2 minutes to get hooked.

I caught on pretty quickly; there was a low grade skill involved and if I practiced I could become superior to someone who didn’t.

At one of these early practice sessions this happened:

My cousin Kit sauntered over from his house across the street. I showed him how to play and he seemed fascinated right from the start.

I was proud that I was able to make it so interesting that Kit wanted to play me right away.

I had no compunctions, of course, I’d practiced for only a short while while Kit had only experienced my verbal show and tell.

The only complication; Kit had no money in his pockets. Not a problem, I’d let him use a few of the pennies I was tossing.

I was the one with the past involvement; I’d surely beat a novice like Kit.

Soon Kit had won all my pennies and I was scurrying up stairs to my bedroom piggy bank. I removed the rubber stopper and shook out some more coins.

After three more money replenishing trips to the bedroom piggy vault — the well ran dry.

Kit informed me it was his dinner time and he had to go home.

He stuffed MY MONEY, now HIS by HIS logic, in HIS pocket and started to walk home. He had to increase the speed of his walk to a run when he realized I was in hot pursuit.

I remember his front screen door slamming just as I caught up with him.

I swung….

My hand going through the winter replacement window that is seasonally changed for the screen — weather permitting.

Surprisingly, I was unscathed.

Fear of parental repercussions coursed through my nervous system. Although innocent of many things; I knew I was guilty of smashing the window.

The phone call came shortly after dinner when Kit’s father, my uncle, got home from his job as an IBM salesman.

My ears perked up.

My father answered, paused and said, “ Yes, yes I’ll speak to him. His reason for trying to punch Kit? Yes, yes, I’ll send him back over.”

Dad and I had a sit down.After I explained my side of the story he reassured me that he did not disbelieve me.

I felt he may understand the fury I felt about the unfairness of it all; he could get angry too.

But could he ever understand the stupidity of lending Kit my OWN money only to have Kit swindle a larger part of my OWN money?

I don’t know where he stood or if he understood.

Dad simply handed me two pairs of boxing gloves that he had stored in the cellar for use in his summer camp that he ran every year to suppliment his teaching salary.

He held them out to me and said,”If you’re mad at Kit, challenge him to a boxing match.”

I trudged on over to Kit’s house across the street and knocked at the door frame with the broken window.

Uncle Shirl came to the door. He didn’t seem mad at all. He invited me in the house. He was smiling.

At the time, I didn’t appreciate the fact that I was no match in a battle of persuasion with one of IBM’’s top salesman.

My uncle asked me what the boxing gloves were for.

I answered him, to the effect that they were for his son and me to have a boxing match in which I would beat the shit out of him for deceiving me to be stupid enough to give him money to win the rest of my money.

$11.43.

I also told him that I wanted my money back.

As any smooth talking good salesperson would do; my uncle heard me out. He gently mentioned that violence, a boxing match, is not the answer to any problems.

He reasoned that Kit had won the money fair and square, although he did concede that Kit started his winning streak with money lent to him by me.

He went on to compare it to a house where the bank extends someone money to purchase a home in which all the appreciation accrues to the borrower and basically none to the bank.

Whaaat!

He said, however, that he and Kit had come to a decision: Kit would donate what was now his money, $11.43 to help fix the window that you, Brian — broke.

My 8 year old primitive mind wasn’t programed to follow exactly what was going on here but it sounded somewhat logical. I had the niggling feeling that I was getting screwed but I decided I’d check with my father when I got home.

My dad would probably be disappointed I didn’t get to knock Kit’s block off in a boxing match; in his eyes a fitting solution to the problem.

Shakesperian, pound of flesh — and all that.

All he said was, “Never have any financial dealing with someone who has nothing to lose.”

When I went to my room that night, I thought about what he said. The day started to make a little sense after a while.

I noticed that my pig bank had moved just a little bit. I went to straighten it out knowing I had to start my savings all over again.

It was heavy with $11.43 in coins.

Dad must have thought I learned my lesson.