Rollerblades

I was twelve and I was the most amazing street hockey player of all time. I was the Wayne Gretzky of Yakima Valley. But my $20 Shopko rollerblades were not holding up. It was time to make a purchase.

 

I went shopping with my mom. We found some rollerblades that were decent, but not amazing. They provided every basic need a rollerblade should. Then I heard the dreaded words, “We should probably wait and see what your father thinks.” “Crap,” I thought, “I will not be getting rollerblades this year.”

 

The next day I went with dad to Sport Haus, a local sporting goods store. We looked at all of the rollerblades. I pointed out the pair that my mom and I had decided would do just fine. $50. They were better than my current pair that was falling apart, but still the bottom of the line for Sport Haus. My dad looked, said nothing, and walked away. He walked right up to the clerk and asked what the $250 pair of rollerblades had over the $50 pair. I held my breath. The clerk then proceeded to inform my father about all of the newest innovations in rollerblade technology. Forty-five minutes later we left the Sport Haus with a $250 pair of rollerblades. Why? “Because they are of higher quality,” he said. “Because they will last longer,” he said. As a twelve year old, I did not care. All I cared about was that I now had the best rollerblades imaginable!

 

Flash-forward fourteen years, the rollerblades are still here and still in full-functioning condition. These are the last pair of rollerblades that I have ever owned because they were quality and built to last.

 

The lesson behind the story: if you are going to spend your money, buy something of quality so you only have to buy it once. If I bought the $50 rollerblades, I may have had to replace them several times over to last as long as the $250 rollerblades.

Coming Soon! "Money Handbook" (the book)

Pennies and Quarters

Ever since I was four I liked money. I remember having a change jar in my bedroom. I would pour it out onto my bed at least once a week. Then I would sort it. Four types of coins, four different piles: pennies, nickels dimes, quarters. I loved quarters. I hated pennies.

Oh, the quarter! I loved the quarter. Quarters were my favorite. It took so few coins to get so much money! Only four of these glorious ribbed-edged pieces, and a person could have a dollar. A pile of quarters made me a millionaire! Or so I thought at the age of four.

Pennies were my least favorite coin. As a child I knew that it took way more than four pennies to make a dollar. As a four year old, I knew it took at least a thousand pennies to make a dollar. They sucked. Such a large pile of metal and all I would end up with is two dollars and five cents. Lame.

My mother and older sister loved to joke about the times they would walk into my room as I counted my life savings: “Two quarters plus two quarters equals one dollar.” Yes, I was rich. Quarters in a jar on my oak bookshelf made me rich.

Then I grew up. I reached the ancient age of seven. Seven is a wonderful age. You are rounding the corner of elementary school and getting the hang of this whole “school thing.” Yes, seven rocked.

One cold evening my mother sat my sister, Marissa, and me down to talk. (Marissa was two years older and loved boys as much as I loved money. I had my priorities straight, she was all mixed up.) My mother handed us both two one-dollar bills. She informed us that this would be our monthly allowance for all of the chores we did around the house.

Now, I am sure that at some point in time I did chores. To this day, I could not tell you what they were or how I did them. It did not matter to me at that time. I had money! My own money! I was ready to move out and get my own place. I was ready to buy a nice truck, a sweet motorcycle, and a playful dog. I could make it out in the world. I now had a steady paycheck: $2 a month.