Some years ago, my childhood home suffered extensive flood damage when a pipe burst in the attic during a frigid New England weekend. Water permeated the entire house, saturating carpets and walls, infiltrating kitchen cabinets, and damaging photos and paintings. While sifting through my old bedroom to salvage what I could, I was surprised by the number of carefully stored items I found: childhood charm bracelets, a cherished t-shirt, a small wooden jewelry box, a seashell necklace, two porcelain dolls, and various other keepsakes.
Although we weren’t wealthy growing up, I treasured everything I received. Each gift felt like a priceless, irreplaceable object. Every toy and trinket held the significance of that giant blue pendant necklace from the movie Titanic, because I knew my parents couldn’t afford to replace it if it was lost or broken.
My children are growing up in a vastly different environment. They often say, “Mom, this broke,” followed by, “I need another one ordered on Amazon.”
In a household with two working parents juggling client travel, stocking string cheeses, completing work proposals, searching for sports jerseys, answering work emails, and assisting with science fair projects that become personal endeavors, I often give in out of sheer exhaustion. My husband attempts to lecture them on the value of money (and the possessions it buys), while I rush on to the next task. I quickly order replacements for broken or lost items, or purchase duplicates, while simultaneously searching for the correct poster board size for yet another school project.
As a child, I was aware that my parents often operated in survival mode. My father was the primary provider, working as a mechanical engineer. My mother was a stay-at-home parent, serving as our chef, teacher, chauffeur, nurse, cleaning service, and more. She also managed the finances meticulously, clipping countless coupons, paying in cash whenever possible, and waiting in long lines with her best friend in cold weather to secure the best Christmas toy deals.
My Indian immigrant parents had left everything behind for a new life in a foreign country, lacking any support system in the U.S. They faced financial challenges without anyone to turn to for help. They worked tirelessly, often living paycheck-to-paycheck, and made numerous sacrifices for my younger brother and me. There were times when my dad nearly lost his job, we moved frequently (I attended four different high schools), and we were aware of financial constraints. While my parents were open about our finances, which sometimes caused me anxiety, it also set expectations, instilled a sense of value, and fostered a strong understanding of money.
Finding my prized Benetton shirt and weathered seashell necklace in my damaged childhood bedroom reminded me that I was raising my children in the opposite manner. I was shielding them from all financial concerns. As filmmaker Ava DuVernay said, “I am my ancestor’s wildest dreams,” and I now live with a level of wealth and privilege unimaginable to many of them: a fully stocked refrigerator, closets overflowing with clothes and shoes, and a home with hot water, ample heating in winter, and air conditioning in summer. I wanted to spare my children from financial anxiety, but I inadvertently created the opposite effect: they didn’t appreciate the value of possessions and had no concept of the cost of things or the effort required to earn money.
Over the past few years, my efforts to teach my children about the value of things have manifested in various ways. We inform them when we order takeout more than twice a week, making exceptions only for emergencies (i.e., when my husband and I forget to prepare a meal). We’ve started discussing with our 9 and 12-year-olds how bird flu impacts poultry availability and prices. My husband gave them an age-appropriate lesson on stocks and bonds and how they function. We discussed the potential impact of tariffs on food items like maple syrup, avocados, strawberries, and tomatoes, and the possibility of buying less of them. Our children also take turns accompanying us to the grocery store each week to understand prices and what we are purchasing.
As a family, we watched Minimalism: A Documentary About the Important Things on Netflix and discussed our addiction to buying things. I reminded them that when I was a child, we couldn’t simply order items on our phones with a click. If we wanted new clothes, our parents had to drive us to the store, find parking, go inside, try on different sizes and colors, ask for assistance, and then decide whether to buy the item immediately or later. We also discussed how we are constantly persuaded to buy unnecessary items, where donated items actually end up, and the environmental impact of excessive consumption. I announced that I would not buy any new clothing for myself for an entire year, and I’ve kept that promise so far.
Now, we offer them opportunities to earn extra money around the house. They don’t get paid for basic tasks like making their beds, folding laundry, cleaning their rooms, or brushing their teeth, as my daughter suggested in an attempt to outsmart us. We won’t pay them for maintaining their personal hygiene or keeping their spaces tidy. However, they can earn money by helping with larger tasks like shoveling snow, cleaning the car, clearing out the garage, and other significant chores at our home or their grandparents’ homes.
Finally, we inform them that if they lose something, they must replace it themselves using their earned money. If a toy breaks, we’ll try to fix it together with duct tape or super glue. Or they can request a replacement for their birthday or a special occasion. It won’t be immediately ordered and replaced from Amazon. If it’s an essential school item, like winter gloves, they will receive a replacement, contingent on good behavior, which will be monitored, and punishments will be enforced if necessary.
It has taken time, but I am gradually overcoming my personal anxieties about discussing money. Ultimately, shielding my children from the impact of money on our lives is not in their best interest. If I want to prepare them for success in life, I need them to understand and appreciate the value of things. And they need to realize that Amazon, with its one-click convenience, won’t always be there to save the day.