Lunch Money

I pulled my car into the pickup line to wait for Jake. As he buckled his seatbelt, I scanned the rearview mirror and saw fresh pink circles around his eyes.

Someone had stolen his lunch money at camp.

It turns out that a bold kid asked Jake for his money and Jake, not knowing what to do, handed it over. The average price per item at this day camp snack bar is around 5 bucks, so the kid made off with a tidy pile.

I saw red. I wanted to line up all of the camp dads and start flattening them. I wanted to stomp into the waiting area and yell swears at someone. I wanted to soothe my kid’s hurt feelings.

I let out a full exhale and pulled out of the parking lot. I found a spot down the road a bit and pulled over. On the short drive, the rage had cooled slightly. I thunked the shifter into park and turned in my seat. Jake was behind me on the diagonal.

“I’m sorry that happened, Son. That sucks. What did it feel like?”

“I felt sad, Dad. I wanted a FRYdo (fried dough), but I didn’t have any money.”

“Oh, man. Was it scary? Did you feel angry or just sad.”

“Just sad.”

In my best moments, I am patient and quiet. I try not to interrogate, I want him to fill the silent space however he chooses. I’m trying to cultivate an atmosphere where the kids want to tell me things. Especially the sad or difficult things.

---

The camp is “run” by high school kids trying to make some walkin around money. They can’t monitor every interaction and check TikTok every few minutes.

“Jake, if you’re with a buddy and you want to share your money or food, you can. But you don’t have to give anyone your money,” I offered.

This hadn’t occurred to him before. That he could refuse. Some color came into his cheeks, he looked better. “Do you feel like talking about some options if this happens again?” I ask.

“I can tell a counselor?” - Jake.

“You can, but let’s pretend there are no adults around, I said. Let’s trade places. Ask for my money, just like the kid who asked you.”

“OK, Dad, give me your money.”

“No fuckin chance, kid,” I say. He clamps his hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh. He’s delighted by bad words. I wanted to shock him and lighten the mood. You can leave out the swears with your kids.

“I can’t say that, Dad,” Jake says.

“No, you can’t, babe. Let’s go again.”

We practiced a few more times. I offer a few kid friendly options.

• I’m not giving you anything. Beat it.

• Go ask someone else.

• No way, kid.

I told him to just keep repeating the one he picked until the kid leaves him alone.

We switched spots and practiced some more until he felt comfortable. We finished the drive home.

A few weeks passed.

Jake was signed up to be back at Starland for February vacation. One day, on the drive down he asked if we could practice “the money talk”. As we practiced, I starting thinking that being able to handle this kind of situation was good for him. I don’t want to see his feelings hurt, but some low risk adversity will season him.

He slipped out of the car with his backpack and threw me a wave and a grin as he went into the building. I could tell by the way his skinny legs were striding that he’d be OK today.