There is nothing like going to college to learn the value of a dollar - just ask my oldest son, who has had his first experience living away from home for the first time. (You can also learn things like sleeping on floors, surviving on Cheetos and tap water, and avoiding laundry for two months or more, but those are other columns.)
Now, this lesson about budgeting money has been inflicted on college students since the beginning of time it seems - even cavemoms and cavedads were shaking their heads muttering when their caveboy came home from college, asking for more rocks. It is a rite of passage into adulthood, having campus police come to your dorm room to ask why you wrote a check to Sears for 10 sweaters when your checking account was in negative numbers. And I know this from personal experience - believe me. When I was in college back in New Mexico (yes, it's a state! And yes, they have colleges! And tumbleweeds! And many cows!) campus security came to my freshman dorm room to question me about my check-writing, which was good timing, because I was getting ready to burn down my dorm room with my new hotplate (I had mistakenly thrown my leg-warmers on top of it).
"Look, officer," I stammered, "this is New Mexico. Aren't you just glad I'm here? Huh? Yeah, come on, you are. I'm from Maryland! You're just glad to have me here!" I was then "hauled downtown" after being allowed to freshen up my Farrah Fawcett "wings" and grab those pink leg warmers (they were nice and toasty after being on the hotplate) where I had to talk to the manager of the Portales, N.M. Sears store, who kindly agreed to drop the whole bad-check thing if I would make good on my purchases, and also tell him a few stories about what it was like back-east (it was like I was in an episode of "Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman", except the episode would be "Dr. Quinn, Bad-Check Writer", and I would not be good for the town, like Dr. Quinn was, but bad for the town, especially its economy).
My father swooped down to rescue me long-distance, knowing I had done this all by accident, and the first thing he did was to re-train my brain.
"How do you know how much money you have? How do you record checks?" he asked me. I opened my checkbook. My checks were really cute, I noticed that right away - they had not only my name and campus post office box printed on them, but also a beautiful array of Southwestern scenes for background, which I always enjoyed when writing my rubber checks - a mountain range, a peaceful desert, a cactus against a sunset (never mind that I never saw a cactus the whole time I was there - turns out I was too far southeast; I did, however, see lots of dirt). I turned to the check register - I had doodled my name, the name of a guy I liked, and a class assignment in the register, but there were no actual numbers. I flipped the page. Oh, good, there were numbers on the next page - but they were phone numbers of people who "might or might not" have parties. Oops. I turned the next page - I found a list of businesses I had frequented. Now we were talking!
"I wrote down every place I wrote a check," I announced triumphantly to my father long-distance.
"Did you write down how much you spent at each place, and subtract it from your balance?" he inquired.
"What?" I answered, still proud that I had recorded anything at all and a little hurt, frankly, that Dad wasn't proud, too.
So, I quickly learned a few things - a) to write down not just where you spent your money, but how much money you spent; b) the Sears manager was wicked nice; and c) your dad will stop sending you money if campus security is regularly involved in your spending.
So, I can relate to my oldest son's dilemma in a special way - which doesn't mean I give him much money - I can just relate. He and his roommate are always either looking for a change (it may be their major), or calling home pretending to be interested in what we're doing (so, Mom, how is that ceramics class going? How's book club? What'cha guys reading now?) Their saving grace, apparently, is the roommate's gas card - they can barter for food "Hey, man, I'll fill up your tank if you buy me a cheeseburger!" and they can even take you to dinner - if you eat at Mobil.
So, like all kids before them, they'll learn. It just takes maturity, a new sense of budgeting resources, and some accepting responsibility. And most of all, always knowing where your Mobil card is!
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