There I was, minding my own business, music playing softly in the background while I tried to catch a moment of peace — when I felt a little tug at my leg.

“Mommy,” he says sweetly, “can I please have R20 for school tomorrow?”

A R20?

My eyebrows nearly leapt off my face.

“Yes, Mommy,” he continues without missing a beat. “I need money to pay for civvies day. And also… tuck shop money.”

Right. Of course. Civvies and tuck money. Naturally.

Now, I get it. We were all kids once, and this little conversation instantly transported me back to my own childhood — to the sound of my own mommy’s voice echoing in my ears: “Do you think money grow on trees? Or on my back?”

Honestly, I felt that.

So I reply (with great restraint), “Do you know, Mommy could choose between giving you civvies money or you wearing school uniform and using that R20 for something from the tuck shop?”

I thought it was a fair point.

But no. This child — in full-on logic mode — casually responds, “That was years ago, Mommy,” as if I’d just suggested trading marbles for sweets.

Then, with all the confidence of a tiny CEO, he offers two very reasonable (and slightly cheeky) solutions:

1. “You can work more.”
2. “Or take money out of my money box.”

I was speechless for a second.

Now, we’ve explained before that we go to work to earn money — so we can have a home, food, and buy them nice things. So I calmly explained that the money in his money box has been saved for him — for when he grows up and studies to become a doctor (his latest big dream). And what does he say?

“But why must I pay to learn?”

HAIBO. Someone come collect this child. Mr. Know It All has entered the chat.

And, I hate to say it, but… he kind of has a point.

Still, I stop what I’m doing, sit down beside him, and meet his big curious eyes. “My child,” I say gently, “money doesn’t grow on trees, and it most definitely doesn’t grow on my back. And unfortunately, nothing in life is free.”

We chat for a bit longer. I explain that part of growing up is learning how to make smart choices with money — how to budget, save, and understand the value of things. And then I give him the choice: civvies or tuck shop. One, not both.

You’d swear I asked him to choose between breathing and eating.

But these are the conversations that matter. I realise, in moments like these, that while he might think I have endless money and endless answers — this too is a teaching phase. He might not get it today, but one day, when he’s older (and maybe a doctor paying back student loans), he just might remember this lesson.

tracy-lynn.ruiters@inl.co.za

Weekend Argus 

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