Money in the Jar

Recently I was talking with a friend about raising children and we inevitably discussed the Tiger Mom book and how some Chinese mothers parent. The discussion prompted me to think about some of the rules that my husband and I had implemented in the house when our children were growing up.

My dear son had an issue with using foul language. I think it began when we saw one of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle movies. Within the first five minutes of the film, one of the turtles said, “damn!” My son thought that was pretty awesome and he started saying the word at any opportunity. If I couldn’t find something at the grocery store, or if I dropped something, my son would mimic his turtle hero.

Over the years he picked up other choice words from various sources, and controlling his language became a concern for my husband and me. I had read about reinforcing behavior by removing privileges. So we tried that. We took away video games, outings with friends and other things that we thought our son treasured. Nothing seemed to work.

At about the age of five, my son began to realize the importance of money, and he soon grew to love money! Especially if it was his. Since we had already tried removing other things from his daily routine and they didn’t work, we decided to hit him in the pocket when his language was inappropriate.

Fees were set for various words. A particularly bad word would cost twenty-five cents. Something less offensive might cost a dime. We found an old jar and made the jar the bank for all fines collected. At collection time, my son would hold tightly to his precious coins before he finally released them into the jar. It was painful for him to bid farewell to those friends.

Even my daughter was in on the sentencing. They would be in the playroom playing and I would hear her say, “Timmy, that’s ten cents to the jar!” She would then come to inform me of the fine so as to insure its collection.

Now the real kicker was that he would never reunite with those precious coins that he released so reluctantly into the jar. At the end of each year, we would tally the amount of fines paid. It was then my son’s decision as to which charity the money would be donated. Since the tally date was usually around Christmas, he often opted for Christmas Cash for Kids or the Food Bank. His fines always went to a worthy cause.

The jar stayed in the house, prominently displayed, until my son reached high school. The total amount collected each year began to dwindle. One year, we didn’t even total the fines, we just let them run into the next year. Eventually my son learned his lesson, that is until he went off to a military school where he picked up a sailor’s mouth!