Chapter 1 - The Bank Crashes

By Richard Valentine Reily, author of Gregory's Hero.

In the beginning there was the piggy bank. Into the fat piggy's belly fell the change others bestowed upon you long before you even knew money was required for the things Mom and Dad made sure you never went without.

One day the ice cream truck was jingling in the distance, the sound growing richer with each passing moment as it crept slowly down your street headed on a direct pass-by of your front door. What to do? An ice cream truck must not pass the house without your having the double chocolate waffle sundae cone, the one you take the paper top from and peel back the wrapper as you eat down through the fudge and nuts on top into the ice cream perfectly formed in the ascending shape of the cone filling the wrapper another two inches higher than the cone.

Ding a ling goes the ice cream truck as it approaches your step. The ringing is louder, demanding. You have to respond, have to run out and stop the ice cream truck. Only there is that one small problem. There is no one home to give you money for the sundae cone.

And right then, the ding a ling of the ice cream truck sets off the ding-ding-ding in your young brain and you remember the piggy bank on the top shelf over the desk in your room into which all your life savings have been deposited for as long as you remember.

In the blink of an eye you race to your room, climb up on the straight back wooden chair, reach for the top shelf and just manage to get your fingers around one chubby leg of the pig. With a pull it comes off the shelf in a tumble and in your surprise at its weight it keeps on coming, keeps on tumbling on a collision course with the desk top, cracks it china head on the edge of your desk exploding into a thousand pieces sending a shower of coins across the desktop, onto the chair on which you stand and across the floor in a scattering clatter.

Right then, at that moment, your financial life became the disaster it has remained.

Today your finances are splashed across a disarray of credit card debt, overdrawn bank accounts, upside down car loans, unpaid student loans, late mortgage payments and overdue utility bills. You pay usurious interest rates, excessive late fees, over limit fees, unending returned item fees, and PMI

Everyday you field telephone calls and letters from collectors attempting to get you to own up to your financial responsibilities. You may think money is your life; actually, lack of money is your life. Welcome to the financial life of most citizens of western nations.

After the noise of the disintegrating piggy bank subsided and coins finished rolling and spinning like tops and settled to the floor you grabbed a handful of coins and without a look back at the financial disaster you had just created you bolted from the room, took the stairs two at a time, blew through the front door like you were on greased rails, chased the ice cream truck the length of your block and only caught it at the end of the street because it had stopped for that irritably polite and well mannered boy with the neat clothes who always stopped the ice cream truck in the same spot.

Even as he stepped away with his purchase and you stepped up to the window to order your sundae cone it had not occurred to you that he was always in the same spot, you had never seen him run to catch the ice cream truck and his purchase was simply a routine action in his day. It also probably did not occur to you to wonder if he had broken his bank to get his ice cream. I can tell you now, he didn't.

Now that you know he didn't break the bank to make his purchase, perhaps you are wondering how he is able to have what he wants, when he wants it without resorting to destroying his finances. After all, he is just another child, like you. He’s no smarter, not from a richer home since he lives right in your neighborhood. Let's take a look.

Remember when Mom and Dad provided everything you needed and you had no idea where it came from, what it cost of how they managed to acquire it? Maybe you don't. But, every thing you ever ate or wore, every book you ever read or toy you loved, every bed you slept in and the water you washed with was purchased. Mom and Dad paid for it.

Along the way, for their own reasons, they simply failed to bring you up to speed on how they aquired those things or their cost. They tried sometimes. Don't you remember - "Turn off that light. Do you think we own stock in the electric company", or "clean your plate, there are kids in China who don't have any food'. Those were all expressed frustration at your lack of understanding of the value and cost of that which they provided for you. But, I don't blame you for not knowing the value and cost. How would you? No one bothered to tell you.

Do you remember that irritably polite and well mannered boy with the neat clothes who always stopped the ice cream truck in the same spot? Surprisingly, or not depending on who wonders, he never heard "Turn off that light. Do you think we own stock in the electric company", or "clean your plate, there are kids in China who don't have any food'. That's right. The words never slipped from his Mom or Dad's mouth.

When he was very young he rode in the folding seat of the grocery cart as Mom pushed it, and him, up and down the aisles of the local supermarket. Like most kids in shopping carts the bright colors and vivid images on packages caught his eye and he want each and every one of them. His mother, however, knew that the marketing was doing its job and he really didn't want any of it, he only thought he did. She firmly, consistently and lovingly said no to each request and went on about her business.

As he got older it was no longer cool to ride along in the shopping cart and he strolled along the aisles touching each pretty box and asking for about one in ten. Mom still firmly, consistently and lovingly said no to each request and went on about her business as he followed happily along. If he had had the capability to reason out his requests even he would have known he had no use, nor interest in feminine products, laundry detergent and canned peas.

Then they came to the check out line. Oh yes! That wonderful last opportunity to savor the delicious possibilities! To dream of the wonderful taste of melted chocolate running down his throat. And one day she gave in. She let him choose one, any one. Just put it up on the belt so the cashier can ring it up and he can have it when they get to the car. He chose almost before Mom finished saying ok and waited patiently and politely as his treat was rung up and bagged, Mom finished her business and got the purchases and him into the car.

She opened one end of his treat, peeled back the wrapper and handed it to him with the admonishment to eat it carefully and not make a mess of his shirt or the car. Make a mess? How could he do that? He wouldn't let on drop go anywhere but in his mouth, such a special treat this was!

Soon enough it was time to go to the market again. He happily took Mom's hand as they crossed the parking lot, eager in his anticipation of another treat. Yet, as they entered the store she stopped, knelt down and turned him to face her.

Right there in the doorway that day she told him she did not any extra money to buy him anything special and she hoped he would not ask since she could not afford to. With dejection he assured her he would not ask and quietly stayed by her throughout the store and the check out line without asking for anything.

Times got better for his Mom and Dad and during a later visit to the store his Mom again knelt down and drew him to her as they entered the store. She pulled him close and placed some coins in his hand.

“These are for you to buy anything you want”, she told him.

His eyes lit up like Christmas! “Anything?”

“How much money do I have?” he asked.

“Twenty five cents” she replied.

“What can I buy for twenty five cents?” he asked.

“Let's take a look as I shop,” she replied and took him by the hand down the first aisle.

His eyes were wide and lit on item after item. He looked from each item to the coins in his hand without any understanding of the price of anything he looked at. Yet he knew that if he took the item he would no longer have the coins.

When they reached the check out his Mom turned to him. “What are you going to buy?”

He reached for the same treat he had had the one time she allowed it. He almost picked it up, but his eyes were drawn to the coins in his hand.

“Can I get this?” he asked.

“What does the price sign say?” she replied.

“Two nine, that's twenty nine, right?” he asked.

“That's right.”

“How much do I have he asked?”

“Twenty five.”

“I can't have that one.”

“No.”

“Oh. This one says one nine, that's nineteen right?”

“Yes.”

“I can have this one, right?”

“Yes.”

“Ok.”

When he picked up his treat and place it on the belt she said. “Hold it until I am done with my business.”

He waited expectantly as his Mom's groceries were rung up, bagged and she paid. Then she turned to him.

“Show the lady what you want.”

He held the treat up for the cashier to see.

“That will be nineteen cents, and one cent tax; twenty cents please.”

He held out his open hand and the cashier took twenty cents leaving him with a nickel.

He looked up at Mom. “Why didn't she take this one?”

“That is left over after your purchase.”

“What do I do with it? Put it in your pocket and you can get something with it later.”

He smiled and pocketed his treasure. That nickel was his most valuable possession for an entire week. On their next visit to the market she stopped in the doorway again, knelt to him and placed some coins in his hand. As they shopped he looked and looked and touched nothing.

At the check out line he reached for the treat he bought on the last visit.

Mom pointed out, “you really wanted the other one, remember?”

“Yeah, but I don't have enough money for that.”

“How much do you have?”

“Twenty five cents, like before.”

“Don't you still have the nickel from last week?”

“Yes, here in my pocket,” he said.

“Take it out.”

“Now how much money do you have?”

“Twenty five and five, thirty cents,” he said as his eyes brightened

“How much is the treat you really want?”

“Twenty nine cents,” his eyes brightening more. “Oh, wow, I can get this one!”

That is how the irritably polite and well mannered boy with the neat clothes who always stopped the ice cream truck in the same spot came about a workable relationship with money. His Mom taught him early on that those things he desired required the transfer of value; his money for what he wanted.