Lessons from the lemonade stand
Donation barrels have been popping up all over town — in front of the supermarket, at the library and at school — as we enter this season of giving and turn our attention to the neediest.
But lately, Didi has also been eager to count his money. As he hunches over the iPad, his face lights up while playing “AdVenture Capitalist.” You start with one lemonade stand, but as you accrue your billions, you can acquire hockey teams, movie studios, banks, oil companies, car washes and more.
It reminded me and my husband of the “Lemonade Stand” educational game we played in elementary school: You had to decide how many glasses to make, how to price it, and how much to advertise, while calculating the risk of rainstorms and street closures. You could get wiped out in a single turn.
In this latter-day version, players never lose, although you can increase the speed in which you haul in the almighty dollar, fulfilling the impossible promise that Bernie Madoff made to his investors — a guaranteed high rate of return. If you hire managers to oversee your empire, you make money even when you’re not playing.
After watching an ad on YouTube, Didi had asked to download the game, which is rated for ages 4 and up. We acquiesced, thinking it might teach him about math — not realizing that he’d instead indulge in greed.
From early on, we’ve tried to teach the twins how to spend and save wisely, and the importance of sharing with those who have less than us. Compared with his twin brother, Didi has long been more interested in money. He diligently fills his R2D2 coin bank with spare change he finds around the house. Gege, on the other hand, lost his two front teeth in quick succession, and he couldn’t be bothered to empty the envelope that the tooth fairy slipped under his pillow. It remained crumpled on the floor of their bedroom for days.
As for displays of conspicuous consumption, Didi loves the reality show “Ultimate Pools,” about the installation of giant swimming holes replete with caves and waterfalls. He wants one of his own someday, while Gege’s desires are immediate, for his favorite toy at the moment.
Are we raising one son in the mold of Alex P. Keaton — the buttoned-up, budding capitalist from the 1980s sitcom “Family Ties” who advocates supplyside economics and idolizes Milton Friedman and William F. Buckley?
We hoped not, though by living in the Bay Area, we’re surrounded by wealth and its trappings: We gaze up at gleaming high-rises in San Francisco, eat $5 cups of nitrogen-chilled ice cream and climb into Tesla models at the local outdoor mall. My sons have also glimpsed people getting left behind in the new economy: In the elevator at the BART station, they asked why the air stank of urine. “Some people have nowhere else to go to the bathroom,” I said. “They don’t have anywhere to live.”
The other day, while driving to school, I asked Didi why he liked the game. “You get money!” he said. “Why do you want money?” I asked. “To buy things: toys, games, iPads. A car!” Didi giggled, probably imagining himself at the wheel, and marveling at the possibilities. He didn’t mention food, health care or a roof over his head because he’s never known a life without those necessities.
“What about giving some of that money to people with less money, who don’t have money?” I asked. (Not that the game has such an option.) “Don’t you want to share?” “No,” Didi said firmly. The money in the game wasn’t even real, I wanted to say. You did nothing to earn it; you didn’t exchange your labor for something of value. I thought of that maxim about people unable or unwilling to see their entitlement and privilege: “born on third base, but he thinks he hit a triple.”
That seemed too complicated to explain to Didi for now, so I tried a different tactic. “Aren’t they collecting food donations at school?” I asked. “For people who are hungry?”
“I want to bring something,” Gege said. “I want to fill the barrel,” Didi said. “We can go to the store to pick something out,” I said. Again I asked Didi if he’d consider giving away some of his loot. “No,” he said. I’ll keep trying to teach him the importance of sharing our blessings. In this age of a rapidly growing class divide, you have to wonder if such lessons are lost on many.
It’s a reminder to us all that Nov. 28 is Giving Tuesday, a chance to donate your time and money to your favorite causes — even if it starts with just one glass of lemonade.
“What about giving some of that money to people with less money, who don’t have money?” “No,” Didi said firmly.