My first finances

Growing up with family and learning different values, ethics, and building a strong relationship with finance and the importance and value of the dollar.

The Language of Value

My earliest lessons in finance didn't come from a bank, but from a four-block walk and a pig. My piggy bank was a heavy ceramic pig, its belly a repository for every bit of spare change I found—a lonely penny on the floor, a cool dime from a couch cushion. My parents would help me count my treasures at milestones: after Sunday school, or during our Friday night dinner talks. Each coin had a name, a destination.

My ultimate destination was the candy store. At five years old, that walk felt like a marathon. The store was a sanctuary of cheap sweets and sticker sheets, a place where a handful of coins felt like a fortune. The reward was immediate, a sugar rush earned by my own two small feet.

But there was another, more tempting option: the ice cream truck. That truck, owned by the same company as the store, was the height of convenience. Its jingle was a siren song, pulling me from homework or a Nintendo game, my money clutched in a sweaty fist. The problem? Convenience came at a price. For the same coins that bought me a mountain of candy at the store, I could only get a simple Push-Up Pop or a chocolate milk pop from the truck. Saving for better options, like an Orange Creamsicle, a Strawberry Shortcake Bar, or a Choco Taco, felt like a true test of my willpower. The most valuable item of all was a rare sighting: new packs of Garbage Pail Kids cards. They were incredibly scarce, appearing maybe once every four or five trips. Those cards taught me about delayed gratification and the thrill of seizing a rare opportunity. The truck was a fickle friend, often skipping days or speeding by before I could get outside. That ceramic pig and that long walk to the store taught me the value of effort and patience, while the elusive ice cream truck showed me the high cost of convenience and the true worth of something rare and sought after.

My next major lesson came from a misunderstanding that was less about me and more about my one-year-old sister’s first financial decisions. She had just celebrated her birthday, and she was captivated by my stories of the candy store and how much stuff my money could buy. She gave me some of her birthday money to go get the candies and stickers she wanted, which were different from mine.

When my mom and she later counted her remaining money, it was short. My parents never suspected me of stealing; that didn't make any sense to them. Instead, it was an opportunity for a family lesson. My sister complained that she wanted more. So, we all sat down and compared our purchases. I had spent the same amount of money she had, but my candy and sticker collection was much larger. My mom explained the difference: my sister’s choices were driven by what she wanted immediately, while mine were about getting the most value for my money. It was a pivotal moment for her to learn about what she was willing to pay versus the quality of what she got.

This incident also brought up a deeper confusion I had. During the initial conversation, my mom had used the word "stealing," which I didn't understand. She had to explain it, and in doing so, she brought up a similar confusion I had about the words "on purpose" and "on accident." My babysitter at daycare would ask me which it was all the time, making me feel like a troublemaker. I would sometimes accidentally agree to doing something "on purpose" when I meant "on accident," just to make the confusing interrogation end. To me, everything was an accident. 

Who would ever choose to do something wrong?

When I finally told my mom about the babysitter, she became "irate and irritated," not at me, but at the babysitter. She called it "ridiculous" that someone would use such grown-up, confusing words with a toddler. It was then that the conversation shifted from the missing money to the intention behind my actions. It was the first time I understood that what you meant to do was more important than what you actually did. In that moment, I realized the value of trust and honesty was far more significant than the few dollars that had gone missing.