My 12-year-old son Ben was eager to buy presents for the family when he accepted our affluent neighbor’s offer to shovel snow for $10 per day. Ben, however, was devastated when the man declined to pay, citing it as a “lesson about contracts.” I made the decision to give him a lesson he would never forget at that point.
My son Ben has always had a larger heart than the world appeared to merit, and I knew it. Despite being only twelve, he had a resolve that could degrade men twice his age.
Nevertheless, I never thought I’d be standing by my husband in the snowy driveway, taking retribution on the man who believed that cheating on a child was just another business tactic.
It all started early in December on a snowy morning. After plowing the driveway, Ben was giddy with anticipation as I prepared breakfast. His cheeks reddened from the cold, he rushed into the kitchen.
“Mom, Mr. Dickinson promised to give me $10 each time I clear his driveway.” He grinned from ear to ear.
Our neighbor, Mr. Dickinson, was as rich as he was annoying. He constantly flaunted his expensive goods and spoke about his business endeavors.
It was obvious that he believed that by allowing Ben to “earn” his money, he was doing us all a service. I wasn’t going to dampen Ben’s enthusiasm, either, because it was infectious.
“That’s fantastic, my love,” I replied, stroking his hair. “What are you going to do with all this money?”
He added, “I’m buying you a scarf,” with the solemnity that only a twelve-year-old could conjure. “And Annie a dollhouse.”
His eyes glistened as he explained the dollhouse with functional lights that Annie had been enamored with since she first saw it in the toy store’s window display, as well as the red scarf adorned with small snowflakes.
My heart grew. “You have everything planned out, don’t you?”
He bounced on the balls of his feet and nodded. “And I intend to save the remainder for a telescope.”
Ben became a blur of resolve throughout the course of the following few weeks. He bundled up in his boots and big coat every morning before school, with a knit hat pulled low over his ears. I watched him, shovel in hand, vanish into the icy air from the kitchen window.
Through the silence came the muted scrape of metal on the pavement.
Leaning on the shovel, he would occasionally pause to regain his breath, his breath creating little clouds in the icy air. Even though his fingers were stiff and his cheeks were crimson as he entered, his smile never failed to light up the room.
“How did today go?” I would inquire while presenting him with a hot chocolate cup.
“Well done! His smile would light up the room as he responded, “I’m getting faster.” Like a dog shedding water, he would shake snow from his coat, causing wet clumps to fall over the rug.
Ben would count his profits every evening while seated at the kitchen table. He handled the notepad he used like a holy ledger, despite the fact that it was dog-eared and stained with ink.
One evening, he pleaded, “Just twenty dollars more, Mom.” “I can then get the telescope and the dollhouse!”
To him, at least, the effort was worthwhile because of his joy.
By December 23rd, Ben had become a seasoned winter worker.
He hummed a Christmas carol as he left the house that morning. Expecting him to return as usual, exhausted but victorious, I went about my day.
However, I realized something was amiss when the door banged open an hour later.
“Ben?” Hurrying from the kitchen, I yelled.
His gloves were still clutched in his shaking hands as he stood by the door with his boots half-on. Tears clung to the corners of his wide, terrified eyes as his shoulders heaved.
I knelt next to him and held his arms. “What happened, sweetheart?”
After first refusing to speak, he finally opened up to me about everything.
“Mr. Dickinson… He claimed that he was not giving me any money at all.
The words were as weighty as a stone and hung in the air.
“You’re not getting paid, what do you mean?” Even though I knew the answer, I still asked.
Ben’s face crumpled as he sniffed.
It’s a lesson, he said. that a job without a contract is something I should never accept. Tears rolled down his cheeks as his voice broke. I put in a lot of work, Mom. I simply don’t get it. Why would he act in this way?
I felt a sudden, blinding, and acute wave of anger. Who would defraud a child as a “business lesson”? I put my hand on Ben’s wet hat and yanked him into an embrace.
“Oh, sweetheart,” I whispered. “You are not to blame. Everything you did was correct. He is to blame, not you. Brushing his hair away from his face, I withdrew. “Please don’t worry about this. I’m going to handle it.
I got to my feet, snatched up my coat, and charged over the grass. My rage was further heightened by the sight of Dickinson’s home, which was ablaze with holiday cheer. As I rang the doorbell, music and laughter flowed into the chilly night.
A few moments later, he showed up with a wine glass and looking like a villain from a horrible movie thanks to his fitted suit.
His voice was full of fake charm as he said, “Mrs. Carter.” “To whom do I owe the enjoyment?”
I said calmly, “I think you understand why I’m here.” “That money was earned by Ben. You owe him eighty dollars. Give him money.
He shook his head and laughed. “No agreement, no money. The real world operates in this manner.
I tightened my fists and forced myself to remain composed. I started to talk about the unfairness of his alleged lesson and fairness, but I could tell by the expression in his eyes that none of that would convince him to act morally.
No, dealing with the Mr. Dickinsons of the world could only be done in one way.
You are entirely correct, Mr. Dickinson. Accountability is the key in the real world. My smile was so charming that it might have caused tooth decay. “Have fun tonight.”
An concept started to take shape as I was leaving. I understood exactly what needed to be done by the time I returned to our home.
Dickinson and his visitors were still asleep when I awoke the household the following morning with a resolute clap of my palms.
I said, “Team, it’s time to go.”
Ben saw the determined glitter in my eye and moaned as he crawled out of bed. “Mom, what are we doing?”
“We’re making amends.”
The air was still and unpleasant outside. With a roar that broke the early silence, my husband turned on the snowblower. Ben snatched up his shovel and held it like a blade. Annie danced along in her boots, eager to “help,” but she was too small for the heavy task.
We cleared routes for the neighbors by starting with our driveway and then moving to the sidewalk. As we moved all of the snow toward Dickinson’s immaculate driveway, the pile increased steadily.
The pleasure of every shovelful kept me going even if the cold cut my fingertips.
Ben leaned on his shovel and took a moment to collect his breath. A smile began to appear on his face as he added, “Mom, this is a lot of snow.”
As I added another scoop to the expanding mountain, I remarked, “That’s the point, honey.” “Consider it a Christmas miracle in reverse.”
Annie laughed as she used her toy shovel to push small piles of snow. She chirped, “Mr. Grumpy won’t like this.”
Dickinson’s driveway was covered beneath a snow fortress by the middle of the morning.
It was above Dickinson’s svelte black car’s hood. I removed my gloves and took a step back to look at our work.
“That’s a job well done,” I responded.
He soon became aware of it. Dickinson soon rushed over, his face as scarlet as his roof’s Christmas lights.
“My driveway—what the devil have you done to it?” He roared.
Brushing off my gloves as if I had endless time, I went outside. “This little thing is called quantum meruit, Mr. Dickinson.”
“What is a quantum?” His bewilderment was almost comical as his eyes contracted.
“It’s a legal concept,” I said, grinning. It implies that you forfeit the right to profit from someone else’s labor if you refuse to pay for it. We just undid Ben’s work because you didn’t pay him. Fair is fair, don’t you think?
Dickinson’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water as he sputtered. “That’s not possible!”
I pointed to the neighbors, whose thinly veiled smiles had gathered to watch. “I can, in fact. Additionally, if you want to hire a lawyer, remember that I have several witnesses who observed you take advantage of a child for free labor. For someone like you, that wouldn’t look good, would it?
When he realized he had lost, he stared at me and then at the audience. He turned on his heel and stomped back to his house without saying another word.
When the doorbell rang again in the evening, Dickinson was there with an envelope in her hand. As he gave it to me, he avoided making eye contact.
He muttered, “Tell your son I’m sorry.”
I gave Ben the envelope and shut the door. There were eight clean $10 banknotes inside. More valuable than all the money in the world was Ben’s smile.
He gave me a strong hug and said, “Thanks, Mom.”
“No,” I muttered, causing his hair to stand up. “I appreciate you demonstrating to me what true determination looks like.”
Amomama is the source.
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