“I’ll Pay You $10”

A few years ago, I read the following fable from a blog post I had stumbled upon.

A son walks into his father’s home office:

SON: “Daddy, may I ask you a question?”

DAD: “Sure son, what is it?”

SON: “How much do you make an hour?”

DAD: “Well, that’s kind of rude to ask. But if you must know, I make $100 an hour.”

SON (lowering his head): “Oh….”

SON (hesitantly): “Daddy, may I have $50?”

DAD: “No, because you’re only going to use the money to buy some silly toy or some other item you’ll use for an hour and be done with. I work hard to provide for this family.”

SON (leaving the office): “Ok…”

The father watched his son leave, annoyed with the interruption.

An hour or so later he finished up his work and started to think what his son had in mind with that $50, and went to find the son laying on his bed.

DAD: “Are you asleep, son?”

SON: “No, I’m awake”.

DAD: “I’ve been thinking, maybe I was too hard on you earlier. It’s been a long week and I took out my frustration on you. Here’s the $50 you asked for.”

The little boy sat straight up, smiling.

SON: “Oh, thank you, Daddy!”

Then, reaching under his pillow, he pulled out some crumpled up bills. The man saw that the boy already had money. The little boy slowly counted out his money, and then looked up at his father.

DAD (somewhat annoyed): “Why do you want more money if you already have some?”

SON: “Because I didn’t have enough, but now I do. Daddy, I have $100 now. Can I buy an hour of your time? If so can you come home early tomorrow?”

Wow.

I remember the first time I read it — I nearly had tears in my eyes by the end of it. My son was around 3 years old at that time, and the thought of ever choosing anything over spending time with him was gut wrenching. I didn’t even have to promise myself not to become like the dad in the story — the thought of remotely resembling this type of father was simply incomprehensible.

…..

Earlier this year, my son and I were playing on the floor of his room. After building his most recent Lego set—one of our favorite ways to spend time together—he cracked open his piggy bank (the same piggy bank he didn’t want to get too full) and spread his money out on the floor.

“How much money do I have, Daddy?”

We counted all the $1s and $5s he had before arriving at a grand total of $14.

“Great! I’m saving up for a new Lego set for us to build together!”

After we cleaned up the Legos and stuffed his money back into his piggy bank, we made our way outside to jump on the trampoline.

In addition to building Legos, jumping on the trampoline together has quickly become one of our favorite activities. It’s almost as if time stands still when we’re outside jumping together, coming up with new games to play and seeing how high I can launch him in the air. This particular day, the game happened to be me getting on my hands and knees while he climbed onto my back to see how long he could hold his balance while I rocked back and forth. Almost like he was surfing.

After 30 minutes or so of playing our new game—it’s amazing how kids can do the same thing repeatedly without getting bored, isn’t it?—I told him, “Alright, buddy. One more time.” He had Awana that afternoon and I wanted to make sure we were there on time.

After the final time, I said, “Ok. It’s time to go inside now.”

“Daddy, please can we keep playing?”

“No, I said it’s time to go.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Pleeeeease! I’ll pay you $10.”

“No, son! We need to go inside.”

(sigh) “Fine.”

Off the trampoline and inside we went.

…..

It was my turn to drive him to Awana that day. After walking him inside and getting him checked in, I headed back to the parking lot to sit in my car and crack open a new book I was excited to start.

Then it hit me like a ton of bricks.

Oh my gosh. My son just offered to pay for my time. And I rushed away our time together.

Realizing I had closely emulated the dad in the story above, I sat there for a while contemplating how I had done something that felt unimaginable a few years prior.

The magnitude of what had happened felt heavier by the minute as a massive pit formed in my stomach.

It was February, and we had caught an unusually warm day for the first time in months, and the only thing my son wanted to do was to be outside together.

So much so that he was willing to give away 71% of his net worth for just a few extra minutes with me.

Was it true that we had somewhere to be and that this was an opportunity to teach him the importance of punctuality? Yes. But were a few extra minutes actually going to make us late? Not at all.

The brutal reality was that we weren’t crunched for time. We had half an hour or so before we needed to leave. I simply wanted to go inside to check my phone or get something to eat — neither of which mattered more than spending time with the only son I have.

Had I become the same person as the dad in the story? Absolutely not!

Actually…well…maybe?

If you’ll allow me to nerd out on the math really quick, I was actually way worse than the dad from the story. My son was willing to pay $10 for what would have taken another 30 seconds of my time. That equates to $1,200/hour. The dad only valued his time at $100/hour.

Semantics aside, it forced me to acknowledge that the line between my behavior that day and the behavior of the dad was dangerously thin. If I could shorten time with my son now for no good reason, who’s to say I wouldn’t morph into the version of the dad from the story once the responsibilities in my life started to pile up?

I was reminded of something a friend of mine has shared often: there is a painfully small period of time in our lives when our kids think we are the coolest person in the world.

In that moment on the trampoline, I was the coolest person in the world to my son.

I say that family is the most important thing to me. I claim to prioritize being present as a father. I know my son is almost a third of the way through the 18 summers I have with him.

And yet, on that day, I found myself taking time with him for granted, as if it will always be there when I want it.

…..

Fast forward a few months and he’s currently struggling with staying in his bed at night due to bad dreams. The fear of nighttime darkness is real for a five-year-old, and my wife and I have slept very little the past few nights. The only thing that has calmed his fears has been for one of us to get in bed to rub his face until he falls back into a deep sleep — you know, the exact thing every parenting guru tells you not to do.

One side of me wants to be firm and stand my ground, telling him that he knows how to put himself back to sleep and that I’m not coming up to his room. Yet, there’s another side of me that feels this is the Lord’s way of giving me back the time with him that I wasted away just a few months ago.

So I lay beside him in his bed a little longer, rubbing his face to help him fall back to sleep and praying over every aspect of his life and his future.

And in that moment, I’d give away any amount of my net worth just to freeze time.

(Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels)