Loco Parentis: Hes Gotta Have It
A real job. One that pays real bucks.
LIKE MOST KIDS these days, Marcy and Jake did the peewee soccer thing. Jake stuck with the game up until high school, when the football coach shanghaied him. Meanwhile, my trombonist husband decided to supplement his income by training as a soccer ref. This year, Doug suggested that Jake train as a ref as well. Which he did, by attending a few classes at the local Y and then buying — or, rather, having us buy him — a soccer ref kit: black shorts, black socks, black cleats, yellow-and-black striped shirt and a set of flags.
I viewed the whole enterprise as a bit of a lark, a way for Jake to get some exercise and learn about responsibility and showing up on time and keeping one’s temper in the face of frothing parents. I didn’t see it as a moneymaking venture. Why would I? Doug spends entire weekends reffing soccer games without seeming to make any money at all. What I didn’t reckon on was the difference between a 51-year-old man’s pockets and a 15-year-old boy’s. Doug’s pay goes toward responsibilities: mortgage, groceries, car insurance, utility bills. Jake has only … whim. It’s a matter of scale.
His first Saturday as a ref, Jake called three games and made $79. I was floored: “Eighty bucks for three hours of work?”
“Hey,” Jake said. “I did a good job.”
“He did a great job,” Doug said.
“Will you take me to the mall, Mom?” Jake asked. “I can buy three new Xbox games!”
Now, here’s where things get sticky. When Marcy was Jake’s age, she also took a course at the Y — in babysitting. And thereafter, she babysat — every now and then. The most she ever made was $32, and that was for an eight-hour stint that convinced her she never wanted kids. I didn’t mind her spending her $32 on headbands at Claire’s and gelatis at Rita’s, because I knew she’d stretch it out for weeks — maybe months. But for Jake to drop $80 on Xbox games in one fell swoop was something else.
“Don’t you think you should put some of it in the bank?” I asked him.
“Why?” he retorted.
Well, yeah — why? For college? Marcy has her work-study job now, but we never asked that she work while she was in high school. “Getting good grades is your job,” I’d say if she broached the subject. It was what my parents told me. So was it fair to ask Jake to save his money — and it was his money — when I never insisted that his sister do so? Should I punish him for raking in the dough?
“Okay. I’ll take you to the mall,” I capitulated. “And I’m proud of you for doing a good job.”
The next weekend, he reffed a two-day Ukrainian soccer tournament. He made 300 bucks.
