“Mama, me prestas una peseta?” (“Mom, will you loan me a quarter?”)  “Si, hijo.” (“Yes, son.”)

I always will remember the only time I asked my mother for some money as a married adult.  It was a Saturday evening, it was cold, and I was broke.  I had just spent my last quarter drying my son’s diapers at a washateria.  The year was 1962, and Pampers weren’t around then, and if they were, I couldn’t afford them.

I remember that after cashing my $55 paycheck, I paid the rent, brought groceries, put $2 worth of gas in the car, paid some doctor bills, and, after the laundry, I didn’t have a cent left in my pocket.  Oh, I had $5, but my wife had it at home in case of an emergency.

As I drove to my humble apartment, I passed in front of El Patio Club.  The club was an old hangout of mine before I got married.  I noticed cars belonging to my buddies parked in front.  It was then that I decided to go to Mom’s house and ask her for a quarter so I could buy a beer at the club and enjoy it with my friends – which I did.

After I graduated from high school in 1956 and got a job, I always gave Mom half of my paycheck. Sometimes, depending on her needs, I gave her nearly all of it.  Thus, it was an awkward feeling for me, as a married man, to ask Mom for money.

I find it interesting that almost all of my friends and I gave our parents (usually our mothers) part of our paychecks back then.  None of my friends, nor myself, would complain about it.  If anything, most of us were glad to do it. Personally, I got a lot of satisfaction from it, and to this day I’m proud to have done it.

Boy, how things have changed! Today, most of my friends and I have received little or no financial help from our working sons or daughters even when they live at home.  My oldest daughter, who lives with my wife and me, got angry with us because we asked her to help pay part of the utilities.

After she vented her anger, I asked her to find her own apartment, though I hated to do it.  She obliged.  After talking with several apartment complex managers, she soon realized how much living in an apartment was going to cost her.

“Gosh, dad, I have to pay a deposit on the utilities before they turn them on,” she exclaimed.  “And I have to sign a lease for no less than six months and put up a deposit.  I just don’t have the money to leave Dad.”

“Well, if you want to live at home,” I firmly told her, “it is going to cost you half of what you would pay living in an apartment.”  Reluctantly, she agreed.

It is sad that you have to threaten to kick your kids out of the house before you can make them understand that they should share the responsibility of paying for the goods and services, not to mention the conveniences, they get at home.

When I lived at home and started to work, my parents never told me I had to pay for the comforts they provided.  Heck, I knew it was my obligation to pay my share of the load.  Nobody taught me that.  My responsibility to defray the expenses my parents incurred maintaining the household was so evident that I don’t think I could considered myself a man if I hadn’t helped.

I honestly believe that many parents like me, who have tried to give our kids everything we didn’t have, have ruined them.  Many working sons and daughters today who live at – or even away from – home still expect their parents to support them.  They sort of remind me of our present day politicians, who spend money (really, our tax dollars) foolishly and then go to their parents (we, the taxpayers) to bail them out of their wasteful spending.

I don’t know about other parents who share my problem, but I am trying to correct mine.  Call it cruel or heartless, but it is time to act.

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