The kids woke me up this morning to wish me happy birthday. My daughter played Happy Birthday on the piano. Each of them gave me homemade cards. When I opened Max’s card, five dollars fell on the bed. “What’s this?” I asked. “It’s all the money from my wallet, mom. I want you to get a manicure or something.” I was so stunned, I didn’t know what to say.
The episode is just another surprising moment in my adventures in parenthood. While it shows that my son has a heart of gold, it also made me a little sad that he thought he had to give me money to make me happy. It’s like it’s no longer enough, in their minds, to give me a card. They're conditioned to think that a card should always be accompanied by some green backs. I will have to remind them, when I think that I won’t sound too ungrateful, that a birthday greeting in and of itself is a very, very fine gift.
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