Allowances

I was to pickup my granddaughter and one of her friends from the local high school and take them to the church. My daughter was able to take them, but first she came over for the money she had given me to give them. It was the money to cover their eating expenses. The amount almost made me gulp, and then I realized it was for two teenagers and more than one meal. The experience did bring back memories.

My two older brothers thought our youngest brother and I were “spoiled” because of my parents’ leniency and the fact that we each received twenty-five cents a week for an allowance. My parents had been in their twenties when the older siblings were small, and they had lived through the depression and the dry years. There was no extra money then. World War II and the returned rains had allowed the farmers to make money again.

My parents had directed us as to how we could spend the money. Ten cents was for the matinee movie ticket, five cents for a treat from the popcorn or candy counter, five cents for the collection plate at church, and five cents must be saved for buying Christmas presents. If we didn't buy anything at the candy counter, the money was ours to spend or save as we wished. That system worked well until the movie tickets went up to fifteen cents. That meant we had to choose between the candy counter and presents for the family. It was a really hard choice for someone not yet a teenager.

We lived out on the farm and earning any extra money didn't seem possible. One Saturday night when I was ten, Papa stopped at the gas station before going home. For some reason my youngest brother and I had gone inside with Papa when he went in to pay the owner. I’m assuming it we were curious or Papa didn't want us alone in the automobile.

Inside, one man was using an iron bar to bash the insides of an iron barrel, his face was flushed and his eyes focused on something inside the barrel. The owner was taking Papa’s money when another car drove up to the gasoline tanks.

“You get that one, Calvin,” said the owner.

The man at the barrel said, “What about the mouse? He ain't dead yet.”

“I can do that,” I offered, “if you pay me a dime.”

“You’re a girl,” the man with bar protested.

Those words always managed to enrage me. I could climb higher, shoot straighter (Daisy Air Rifle), and spit farther than any boy my age.

“Just let me try while you are outside.”

The owner looked at Papa and he smiled and nodded his head. I took the bar, positioned myself and used the bar to stir the papers that had been tossed inside the barrel. The mouse skittered out of its hiding place.

I slammed that bar down as hard as I could and kept slamming until the mouse was dead. You may be horrified, but I detest rodents. The owner grinned and said, “Wouldn't you rather have a package of chewing gum?”

“No, sir, thank you, I’d rather have the dime I was promised.”

He handed me the dime, a perplexed look on his face. Even at ten-years of age, I knew the package of gum only cost a nickel. Next week, I could splurge at the candy counter. I can’t tell you how proud I was to have “earned” money outside of the home.

When I was a teenager, there really wasn't an allowance anymore. My brother could do farm work for others, but I couldn't live in Iowa and Arizona had laws that said I couldn't work until I was sixteen. It wasn't until I was sixteen, going to school, and working that I had extra money again.

My husband and I thought we were being extremely generous with our children and their allowances. We started them at a dollar and then upped it to three dollars per week. My husband had grown up with even less money than I had had. It was years later that we discovered their friends were getting like fifteen to twenty dollars a week. That amount still horrifies me. I have no idea what children and teenagers receive today and I really don’t want to know.