Emotional commerce

What is it with men and money?

To be more specific, is there something imprinted on their DNA that loosely translates to: Money is the salve for all ills, and the favored medium of communication with all other humans? Allow me explain why I ask.

After I picked M up from preschool yesterday we headed over to our local market to grab a few items for dinner that evening. In a fit of uncharacteristic optimism I allowed M to fully commandeer our grocery cart for the first time, which thrilled her to no end. You'd think I'd just solemnly bequeathed upon her the keys to the Space Shuttle, asking only that she not burn up on re-entry, such was her earth-transcending joy. Trailing slightly behind me as we weaved our way through the aisles, she swerved drunkenly left and right and back and forth, bellowing merrily "look at how good I am with the cart, Mommy! I'm so good!!!", and then, inevitably,"OOPS! IT WAS AN ACCIDENT, MOMMY!" when she plowed headlong into mid-aisle pyramid displays or the shins of unlucky fellow shoppers. Whenever I paused to inspect a grocery item I had to stretch my arm out rigidly behind me, palm flat, to stop her from ramming me with her, ahem, abundant enthusiasm.

This went on for a while. Then, about mid-way into winding our way through the rodent maze of products, an eldery gentleman approached us. "WELL, AREN'T YOU A GOOD LITTLE GIRL!" he screamed in that oblivious way people who are hard of hearing do. "YOU'RE SUCH A GOOD HELPER!"

M's entire face morphed into a question mark, and she glanced furtively from side to side, checking to make sure she was the only good little girl within a reasonable radius. Assured that he was, in fact, addressing her, she shouted back merrily "I'M DRIVING THE CART!!!!"

"WELL THEN, HERE --" he pulled a dollar bill from his pocket and thrust it toward her. "FOR BEING SUCH A GREAT HELP TO YOUR MOM!" he nodded toward me and winked.

"Ohhh, no no..." I protested weakly, but of course it was too late. M had snatched the bill, and was oggling it lustily. For a moment I thought she might actually lick it.

"Thank you" I sighed, not really knowing what else to do. The man smiled, patted M on the head, and disappeared down the far end of the aisle.

"Can I get something with A DOLLAR? Something I would like to play with for A DOLLAR? Or some candy with A DOLLAR?" Each time she said "A DOLLAR" the words sounded like the definition of disbelief. How was it that she, a mere girl of five, had been given the fabulous gift of A DOLLAR, OMG?!?!

Meanwhile, I was of course reeling from the uncomfortable mash-up of feelings that experience produced. Why did he have to give her money? Why was it necessary to turn that into a transaction, to make praise and appreciation seem like insufficient tender? I tried to shake it off.

As we were checking out, M chatted enthusiastically with our cashier -- a middle-aged African American gentleman who I often imagined must've been something of a cassanova back in his day, what with his smooth "Hey baby!" greetings and easy, charming banter. Using my debit card to pay, I'd selected to get $20.00 back, and as Mister Smooooth extended his hand toward us with the money I heard M GASP. LOUDLY. I looked at her, and could see in her eyes the astonishment: YET ANOTHER MAN WAS GIVING HER MONEY! WTF?!?

The cashier chuckled, "No, baby, that's for your Mommy!", and the man in line behind me laughed, interjected something along the lines of "Oh man, I wish people were just handing out money too!" I turned to M to explain to her the circumstances and why this money was being given to me, but her face stopped me. It was red. Beet red. She was blushing, and I'd never seen her blush before, ever. "I want to get out of here now, Mommy" she whispered in a voice audibly strained against near-erupting sobs. "Okay, let's go" I whispered back, turning to thank our cashier, and then turning back again to see M vanishing into the store's enclosed entry space.

When I caught up with her she was already in tears. "I want to go home, Mommy!" she cried, and I knelt down on the floor in front of her to wrap myself around her body as fully as possible. I saw in her at that moment my own sensitivity, my own tendency to jump to hurtful conclusions and take things the worst possible way, even when they weren't intended as such. It broke my heart to see this part of myself in her. I'd hoped she'd be spared it somehow, that her skin would be thicker than mine and that she'd breeze through life with a tougher shell enveloping her, one that would repel those tiny invisible arrows I always feel striking at me. No such luck.

Just then, Mr. Smooth burst through the store's interior door, having seen M's tears from his register, I suppose. "Oh baby, come here, I'm sorry!" he said, and reached one arm out toward her. In his fist was a one dollar bill. My heart sank.

Yes, I understand that the intention behind these monetary exchanges was good natured. I get that these men meant well. But where does this come from exactly, this sense that money is an appropriate conduit for emotion, a fitting and proper means by which to express feeling? Because that? That I just don't get.

Candy and chocolate on the other hand? Now THAT'S what I call a salve for all ills and a favored medium of communication. Silly menfolk, will they never learn?

Comments

[carolyn]

I have to ponder the money issue (and also -- strangers giving out money?), but I do so painfully recognize your daughter's reaction as one I used to have all the time (and embarrassingly, still have). The misinterpretation of events, the embarrassment, and the horror that follows, solved only by breaking down and wanting to just run away. Just heartbreaking.

[Assertagirl]

It's a long-standing tradition, isn't it? My uncles and grampa used to give us quarters all the time. And then there's the issue of a weekly allowance...it's tough.

[BaltimoreGal]

Aw. This story makes my heart hurt. Poor sweet girl.

[BaltimoreGal]

By the way, I'm convinced my youngest brother's, ummm, let's say, naughty ways began when he stole some candy from a drugstore and my mom made him bring it back and apologize. He was so damn cute (still is, the asshole) that the old lady behind the counter said it was OK and gave him ANOTHER piece of candy. My mother was NOT pleased. So you are SO doing the right thing. Be sure of that.

[Her Bad Mother]

Oh, this broke my heart a little. It really did. I know exactly how she felt, and how you felt, and aaaagh.

Men and money. Whaddup, srsly?

[Keryn]

My daughter picked up some dropped change for a woman at the post office one time, and the woman gave her a dollar for being so helpful. So it's not just men. But it WAS really weird to me.

This post made me get teary-eyed. I'm sensitive like that, too, and so are my girls. It sucks.

[Fluffy Windover]

Are you by any chance talking about Prentice (not sure of the spelling there), at the Safeway? Because he is so totally my boyfriend.

[Heather B.]

Can I give you a dollar for inspiring my next BH post?

[Angela]

It breaks my heart. (In fact, I just spent five minutes commandeering your comment section by posting my own similarly embarrassing memory from when I was three. Luckily, I selected all and deleted...) I, too, am trying so hard to save my kids from embarrassment. (It's tricky with MC and her eye patch. Every elderly woman at the store either stares at her or says something brilliant like, "Hey! What's wrong with your kid's eye?") Anyway. Give M a big hug for me.

[Faith]

My heart hurts for you and for M. Because I am sensitive too. (I wonder though if being all tough and macho is really all its cracked up to be though?) Saving the kids from embarassment is like a mom duty, which, much like looking like those ladies in the magazines we can't ever fully fufill.

[Kia]

Amen, sister. I wouldn't mind men thinking money solved all problems if one of those men magically materialized and was handing me a fist full of hundred dollar bills. But, um, what is it they think we are supposed to be teaching 5-year-olds by giving them money at the drop of a hat? Those men make me sad (unless there's one out there who really does want to hand me a fist full of hundreds). But it makes me more sad to see myself in M's reaction. I feel like that frequently but I am lucky (or perhaps unlucky) enough to have learned how to stifle (if only sometimes) that need to run away and cry. If only age and gender made life easier...

[KimAZ]

I think this is a generational issue as well, as I've seen it from my in-laws and aunts with my own kids. But I have to say, the words, "...I knelt down on the floor in front of her to wrap myself around her body as fully as possible..." just moved me to tears. That instinct to pull them back inside us where they're safe, you expressed it so eloquently.
Thank you, Tracey.

[Mom101]

Oh man you told this too well. I'm all sad and stuff now.

[ozma]

This is just so sweet and heartbreaking and beautiful all at the same time. Oh, I so know that. My girl is sensitivity incarnate.

I think there is kind of this tradition of men doling out money to children. The whole quarter and a pat on the head thing. I wonder if there was some social purpose to it. Or is it a display of wealth in a way or just some kind of primitive thing? But yeah, it seems weird to us now.

[Maria]

Poor M! I feel for you both. (((((HUGS)))))

[Liana]

Oh MAN I was that sensitive, too. Still am, sometimes...and I HATE being embarrassed in front of people and I turn red SO easily...I totally understand how she felt. It is such a full-body stomach-dropping face-heating up feeling.
*sigh*

[Chris]

We, parents, are guilty of the same thing. I have seen parents who never have enough time for their children shower them with gifts and money. The by product of this of course are BRATS.

[Melanie]

I was thinking it must be generational, as well. My father is like this - was like this before he retired; every Christmas I would hear the same refrain as I sat amidst the huge piles of gifts: "I'm sorry I couldn't get you a good Christmas this year, Darlin'." All the while, every year, I hoped to hear a simple "I love you" instead.
It's weird and unfathomable to me.

[mrsbbradley]

I think the man/money thing has really become a thing in this new age. Men realize that when they see a sweet little kid doing something right, they can't go too near them. They certainly can't pull a candy out of their pocket. They want to be able to show that they were touched, and men being men, don't realize how much their simple words can mean, so out comes the dollar bills.

I always feel sorry for the man, who is trying so hard to be nice.

[b]

Both men seemed awfully sweet to me (but that's with me sitting at home, not out in public dealing with strangers offering money to my child... in real life, I would have felt weird too). In situations like those I just focus on the intent and not the action. The first man was probably just missing his grandkids and wanting to do something nice for a small child; the second man was trying to rectify his mistake. In the second case it wasn't really a "men and money" thing--money had been the conduit for M's embarrassment, so it was the most obvious thing Mr. Smooth could have used to fix the situation. I know you already know they both had the best of intentions, but maybe thinking of your shopping trip as two "kindness of strangers" moments would feel better than as two "what is it with men and money" moments.

[Liz]

I had a weird money-and-strangers interaction when my daughter was about 3. I was on the subway platform in Brooklyn, New York, and my daughter (who had very little hair and looked like a boy) and I were sitting on a bench. An older gent came up to my daughter and handed her a dollar bill and said something like, "Here you go, son. You're gonna need lots of this to pay for ladies when you get older." I was sort of dumbfounded and so was she. I didn't even know where to begin as a response, so I just let it go.