Johnny and the Incompetent Money Wasters

I picked up my two-year-old from daycare today, something I don't usually do on Mondays. He asked “Why are you picking me up today? Where's mommy?” I said, without thinking, “Mommy is paying our taxes”. He replied “What?” which is his Eskimo-snow-word that can mean “What”, “Where?”, “Why?”, “I didn't hear you”, “What do you want?” or a number of other things, but in the tone he used this time he actually meant “You don't say. Do go on.”

I was about half a heartbeat from saying “It's complicated” and stopping the conversation right there but that is a total cop-out. Plus, to the limited vocabulary of a two-year-old “It's complicated” is basically the same as “Go away, kid, you bother me”.

Significantly worse would be to chuckle darkly and mutter “I say the same damn thing every April”. Unless you are in a sit-com and are counting on the scene to fade to black and the credits to roll while the studio audience guffaws at your closing bon mot, you aren't being funny – you are just sowing seeds to turn the Information Sponge in the car seat behind you into a bitter, resentful adult. The meaningless words will be forgotten, sure, but not the hate.

He is cool with the concept that “paying for things” happens before “getting things”, but not when the “things” are not as tangible as the plastic car in his Happy Meal. So what do you say? How do you couch “taxation” in terms that doesn't make it sound to a toddler like some monster somewhere is picking his/her parents by the ankles and shaking them until their piggy banks are empty?

I stumbled for a bit and finally came up with “Umm, do you like to drive fast on the roads?” “Yes,” he said. “Do you like bridges?” “Yes,” once again. “Do like army guys?” “Yes,” for the third time. “Well, mommy and daddy need to pay for the roads and bridges so we can use them and the army guys keep us safe.”

“Oh,” he said. He then sang the Days of the Week song five times in a row then went back to drinking his juice box.

Just curious if he retained any of what I told him, about an hour ago I asked him “Do you remember why mommy and daddy pay taxes?” He said, predictably, “What?”. His inflection this time meant “I am temporarily paying attention to you in the unlikely event what you just said is more interesting that this episode of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse I have seen fifty times, but make it quick, please”.

I just said “Nevermind, buddy”, joined my son on the sofa, and watched Goofy crash his Upside-down Bicycle into a tree for the fifty-first time.

I'll ask him again later.