As I've mentioned before, I used to have a lot of odd jobs growing up. Snow shoveling in the winter, camp counselor in the summer, busboy all year round.
You could probably imagine that my brother and I made quiet a pretty penny working these odd jobs. We would often get $25 a driveway, which to a ten year old, was like a million dollars. We could do five to ten driveways in a day, and that would (in theory) expand our video game collection immensely. Or that money would be just the right amount to purchase the ultimate pong slammer or expansion deck for my Magic the Gathering collection.You could imagine.
Because that's all my brother and I would do.
For every driveway we shoveled, we kept $2. So instead of that $250 payday, we only got to keep $20.
Every night, when I came home from the restaurant, seventy five percent of my earnings, my mother took from me.
When all the camp counselors were celebrating payday with "Wing Night" at the local watering hole, I was back at the restaurant trying to make up for the seventy five percent hit I just took on my earnings.
My brother and I were extremely frustrated. Mom and Dad were stealing our hard earned money. We were child slaves! We worked insanely long hours and got nothing in return.
We started to hate having to go to work. We were the only children who prayed for the snow to stay away. We were pro global warming ten year olds who hated the sound of the phone ringing in the morning (the infamous teacher to teacher phone call chain letting people know school was delayed or cancelled).
When I got older, my hatred for the phone would continue. When I was home from college and the phone would ring, I knew someone was calling me to fill in for a teacher or aide who took the day off from work. I hated the thought of going into work because, I knew, no matter how much money I made, I was only seeing a quarter of the money. I had enough money to fill my gas tank to get me from one job to the next.
My brother and I were convinced we were child slaves. Cute, white, middle American child slaves. We had to do something, we had to put an end to these horrific working environments.
Good thing our parents didn't listen to us.
Every time I forked over the seventy five percent of my earnings to my Mom and Dad, they would stash the money in an envelope and write down in a journal how much I made.
Since my parents started doing that for us, I amassed a small fortune. I used this money to pay for all my college text books. At the age of twenty three, I was able to open up an account with Ameriprise Financial, seeding the account with $20,000. At the age of twenty four, I was able to invest in equipment that would help me launch my videography business. At the age of twenty five, I was able to pay down a large chunk of my college loan. At the age of twenty seven, I was able to put $10,000 towards a down payment on our townhouse.
When I look back on the amount of money I could have possibly blown on CDs, DVDs, video games and other useless crap, I am extremely thankful to my parents for "robbing" me of that seventy five percent of my earnings.
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