The Earning Boy

Today was the day that Atrain filled up his entire smiley-face job chart. He has been looking forward to this day for weeks; it was the moment when he would claim his reward for all of the good choices he has been making. After all, good choices equal good consequences (the new phrase we’ve been repeating for about a month now), and I was excited to get him something substantial to help the idea really hit home.

So, we headed for the toy store. Going to the toy store is a big deal for us, since literally 95% of the toys Atrain has (including the ones from “Santa”) come from the D.I. But, Atrain has had his heart set on a new, light-up light saber for weeks and he had worked hard and waited a long time to earn it. A while back there was one moment in the grocery store when he had a melt down because I told him he had not yet filled up his job chart to earn the light saber that he was holding tightly in his hands, determined to carry it through check out. “NO, I do NOT want to earn it! You did not listen to me, momma—I will put you on time out. Good bye!” He said as he stomped around me in the isle. I tried not to laugh as the words came out of his mouth. I probably would have been tempted to cry if the husband hadn’t been there to help drag our screaming boy from the grocery store.

But that wasn’t going to happen today. It was his turn to call the shots—he had earned it (though I doubt any amount of smiley faces would enable him to put me on time out…I think). We entered the toy store with one goal in mind: find the electronic light saber and but it. But, I also needed diapers for the Jdog. So, after Atrain chose the blue light saber I diverted to the diaper section to snag a box. On the way there, we passed the section of the toy store that contains multiple electronic riding toys. We paused to “check them all out.” I held Atrain’s light saber as he darted from one mini-jeep to Lightning McQueen to the small cop car and back again. I gave him a one minute warning just as another slightly older boy came to the aisle to try out the cars as well.

The boy was accompanied by his mother who busily worked on her phone as asked her if they could buy “this one…no no, this one—yeah, the yellow mustang…no no, the orange go cart…” At first, the mom didn’t have much to say in response to his requests until the boy turned up his volume and persistence. Then she said, “Maybe the Easter bunny will bring you one.” Her words were like sandpaper, scratching their way into my ears. And as Atrain’s eyes lit up, I knew what question was now trembling on the tip of his tongue.

How was I to handle this one? Thus far Atrain had not even asked if we could buy one of the big cars. He’s pretty well aware of what it means to just “check out” the big toys in the store: we look, we admire, maybe we even covet, but we don’t buy. Not necessarily because we don’t have the money (though that definitely simplifies the scenario); but I’m rather wary of paying $400 for something that will eventually end up in the “as is” section at the D.I. We’ve “checked out” many a Barbie-jeep there to know the fate of such purchases. Plus, I think that having everything you want can kind of poison a person. So, when the sentence, “Can the Easter bunny bring me this car?,” came out of Atrain’s mouth, I responded with “I think it’s a little too big for the Easter bunny to carry to our home.”

As soon as I said it the other mother standing there sort of snickered. I’m not sure why. I smiled politely, as if I knew what was so funny. Was she laughing because our Easter bunny isn't as strong as theirs? At my shameless refusal to buy my three year old a mustang? Or just at the thought of an Easter bunny trying to carry a kid size Cadillac in his basket? I’ll never know, but I hoped as I kept my eyes glued on Atrain’s expression that he didn’t feel embarrassed, or slighted. My heart beat slowed with the thought and I began praying that he would still love his light saber as much as he had planned. The need to leave this aisle and that mother behind suddenly took precedence over breathing.

As I rushed Atrain away I tried to gauge how he was feeling. “That boy was silly, thinking that the Easter bunny brings such big cars,” I said. “Yeah,” Atrain responded, “The Easter bunny just brings Blue Mater” (the car he set his egg-hunting sights on long ago). I smiled. “You’re right, Atrain.” He smiled back, and then said something that I will never forget. “I’m an earning boy.” Suddenly the odious memory of that mother and boy melted away. “Yes, you are…and I’m so proud of you.”