Once Upon a Fortnite

"I like to think having money wouldn't change who I am, but I won five bucks on a scratch-off the other day and immediately purchased some name-brand aluminum foil."  – Readers Digest

If you laughed at this quote, I'm guessing you might've struggled for money some time during your life. I didn't grow up exactly poor. But on the wealth spectrum, I'd say our family landed on the left side of the middle-class. We were never hungry. Mom kept her sewing machine well-oiled to ensure I always had something to wear. Fashionable even. And we always had a motorcycle in the garage. Some might've consider that an extravagance. Not to my father. A cycle was (and is) a bare necessity.

Needless to say, I felt the tension anytime money got tight. Those were times I really hated our financial status. But being poor is a great motivator. My mother (who grow up really, really poor) made sure I got things she never did. And I was going to make darn sure my kids got things I never did.

But there's something to be said about growing up without money.

That some serious gaming.

Since I work at a bank, I try to keep a close eye on my children's spending habits – especially the high schooler who only earns about $50 a month. Sometimes I get a little lax in my monitoring. But when his auntie overheard him talking about the money he spent on "outfits" for that time-squandering game called Fortnite, I thought I should check it out.

$208 since January. On avatar outfits. The kid only has two pairs of real jeans.

Needless to say, I wasn't happy. I'm not the type to blow a gasket. And Cole knows this all-too-well, so somehow he manages to get away with shit with hardly any repercussions. Case in point: I was lecturing him, via text about this recent spend. But he just kept owning up to it. No argument. No defensiveness. I kept pressing. Finally, he texted this:

"It was me. I'm sorry. I'm done I swear. We can now move on and learn from this."

We can now move on and learn from this? Isn't that what I'm supposed to say?

Okay, then. That's what I said.

I've thought about this a lot. Cole knows his little stunt won't break us. And it was from the money he earned. God forbid, he save for college, or use it for one of his daily visits to Burger King. I'll make those suggestions. But he knows darn-well I'll give him money for food. That's just an innate maternal thing. We feed kids, no matter what. Even when we want to teach them a lesson.

Anyway, I can only hope I laid on the mom-guilt thick enough to prevent further stupid Fornite activity. But somehow, I doubt it. I'll bet you $208 it'll happen again. But I do take comfort in the fact that our daughter once had a penchant for spending money on foolish things like a $40 Harry Potter wands and $10 smoothies. And now? She's as frugal as they come. But it took the move away from home and the giant-financial-suck of college for her to figure it out. And fortunately, she doesn't play Fortnite.

A Tale of the Generous Spirit

One summer during college I worked at Mickel’s – that landmark restaurant of Shelby County with the cheery orange and yellow facade on the corner of 12th and Chatburn. Decadent fried rolls. Homemade sweet salad dressing which was clearly the best condiment in the house. Mickels (may it rest-in-peace) was a local treasure. I still think fondly of my time there, remembering the fun environment and, of course, the fried rolls.

There was an elderly couple that came in fairly frequently. Okay, there were a lot of elderly couples who came there frequently. But this particular couple was iconic to the waiting staff. The man was a dear, gentle soul with an adorable smile. And his wife? Oh my goodness. I’m not sure there are words. Maybe the best way to describe her would be this: a fire-breathing dragon lady.

As he would try to make friendly small-talk, she would interrupt with a spitting, “I want a cheeseburger.” Then she would tell him to shut up and order. As she growled, he continued to chuckle in a polite way. She never liked her food. He always complimented. And when it came time to pay the bill, she made darn sure he wasn’t going to leave a tip. Somehow, he always managed to hide a little something under the placemat.

You know what I think about when I remember that old couple? The kind soul of the old man. It easily eclipses the fire of the dragon lady.

Here’s the thing. Kindness is powerful. I loved waiting on that couple – we all did. Because Mr. Kindsoul was inspiring. The poor guy lived in hell, but you’d never know it. His response to his situation seemed to be patience and generosity.

In our household lives a soon-to-be 16-year-old boy. I’m not sure if any of you have experience with teenage boys, but they don’t always think. As a matter of fact, it’s been proven scientifically that teenager brains are not fully developed. But, when Cole forgets to shut off a hydrant and lets water run all night, our knee-jerk is not to remember that he can’t help his folly. We are ready to chew some ass. 

“Cole! What kind of dumb-ass move was that? You gonna pay the water bill next month?”

Cole feels terrible. I feel terrible. I’m thinking Doug feels kind of bad too, but I’m not sure fathers experience mom-guilt like we do.

Maybe patience and kindness is the answer. What would be so wrong with this?

“Cole. The weirdest thing happened – the hydrant was left on overnight. Any thoughts on how that might’ve happened? Ha ha!” 

Okay. Maybe no ha ha. Cole would still feel horrible, but I’m thinking he’d appreciate our gentle approach. And we all would move on to the next thing. Unless, it happened again. Then I’d probably emerge into Mrs. Dragonlady.

#Lessons from a 13-Year-Old Boy

My thirteen-year-old boy is fascinated by his changing self. If only I could be half as fascinated with my changing self...

Last Summer

Now

As Cole inches upwards at full sail, I inch outwards–boasting a fresh layer of blubber around my middle. It's like I've placed an inner tube under my shirt for a humorous effect. But it's not funny. Except for when I laugh...and it jiggles. That's kind of funny.

While Cole scans his legs, underarms, and chin for "man" hair, my tresses are spewing out grays like an angry volcano. Perhaps my follicles are protesting from years of color jobs. I wish I could feel as elated about my gray strands as Cole feels when he's certain of a whisker on his chin. But I can not. I can only wonder how long my dye jobs will last. And if the color is damaging my brain. (BTW, Cole's whisker-discoveries are typically illusions only perceived by him. Or a pesky pet hair.) Needless to say, I'll admit I'm too vain to worry about brain damage for now.

Cole and I do share one common affliction, which I suppose is kind of special for a mother and son. Skin blemishes. Zits. Blackheads. Sure, his skin is still pretty beautiful–not quite as unyielding or age-spotty as mine, but both of us sport a few red spots here and there. It's really the only thing that makes him sort of look like a teenager–and the fact that he's almost taller than me now. AND, it's about the only thing that makes me still feel young! Acne!

The other day Cole shouted out, "Oh Mom! I had a great day! Guess what happened?"

I paused from whatever important task I was tending to. Cole had been studying pretty hard lately. Perhaps it had finally paid off! Perhaps he had been selected for something special! The tone of voice indicated something great...

"Well, Mrs. Schaben called out to me in the hallway and said 'Cole?'"

Mrs Schaben was going to recognize him for something! I was already feeling proud, wondering what he had done and what honor he was going to receive.

"She said, 'Your voice is really getting low.'"

Cole just looked at me and smiled.

"Was that the story?" I asked.

He nodded with a big grin. "Isn't that awesome? It was like the best day after she told me that."

I nodded and grinned. To be so enthused with one's own maturation? Well, perhaps it is a gift–a gift I could learn to appreciate myself as well. I guess. After all, aging isn't the worst. Not the best, but not he worst. It can be humbling, but it does teach us to laugh at ourselves. It should anyway.