It’s Saturday morning and the struggle is real. The struggle to get my kid amped up and enthusiastic about going to his soccer class. “What do you mean?” you might ask. “Aren’t little boys always excited to be running around on a field, with a ball and other kids?” No. No they are not.
I don’t remember at what age I started to get an allowance. I don’t remember at what dollar amount it started or incrementally how it grew. By the time I was old enough to remember getting it, it was $20 per week (or maybe every other week) and I’m fairly certain I blew it on things like nail polish, Barbie clothes and lip gloss. When I got a little bit older, before I had a part time job, I used it for McDonalds with friends, movie tickets and the occasional clothing item that my mother declined to purchase. If she liked it, she’d buy it. If I liked it, but she didn’t, I had to buy it.