I was a parental ATM. Now that my son is college-bound, I’ve expanded into a full-service financial institution.
During the golden parenting years, pre-puberty, it’s possible that my son viewed me as a sentinel being. Maybe. After purchasing a cell phone activated his entitlement gene, I became a walking, breathing ATM.
He set the rules. Transactions were limited to withdrawals. I was not allowed to converse, analyze the deal’s merits or waste time.
The job description of a parental ATM mimics the principles of marital sex:
Do it, hurry up, and don’t talk.
The no-talking rule was the hardest to comply with. It’s built into every parent’s DNA to respond to free money requests with, “Do you really need that?”
An intelligent child questions everything. Everything. Daddy proclaims, “Money doesn’t grow on trees!” Son responds, “Money is made of paper, and trees are used to make paper, so trees are basically money. Right?”
The parental choice is arguing with the kid or handing over the cash. I accepted my destiny. To avoid the hassle of continually finding and opening my wallet, I attached currency to my clothing and let my son grab it and go. I didn’t, but I thought it was a savant idea.
I knew that grown and flown would force me to become a bank with unlimited withdrawals, electronic transfers, and credit cards. Yet, there were changes that I didn’t expect.
My vocabulary expanded to include unfamiliar terms, such as flex meal plan, capital gain tax, and 529. I also learned a new swear word, “bursar,” and the cuss phrase, “Bursar you!”
I was surprised to relive previous battles. “Do you need to buy lunch every day?” mutated into “Given that you never eat breakfast, do you need the 21-meal plan?” I continued to question whether something was truly needed. “You hated your bunk bed, and you made me get rid of it, and now you want a loft for your dorm bed. Really?”
My son’s rebuttals didn’t significantly change. “If you can afford an iPhone, why can’t I get one?” became “You’re spending $20,000 on tuition, so what’s the big deal about renting a $175 bunk bed loft?“
As a parental ATM, I would hand a crisp 20-dollar bill to my son while asking, “What do you say?” After he pressed the appreciation bar, I let go of the cash. The only perk of giving money to a vertically challenged panhandler was watching him enjoy his purchase.
Today, I click a button to approve a money transfer. It’s simpler and faster. But there’s no immediacy of appreciation. It’s entirely virtual, and I feel more like a bank teller than a parent.
If I’m lucky, I’ll receive a text message from my son with a cute Bitmoji “thanks.” He will likely send the obligatory “thank you” message after I repeatedly texted, “Did you get the money?”
I now understand the real meaning of “grown and flown.” Grown means unlimited withdrawals, and flown is electronic banking. I miss the parental ATM days.
