fter dinner, I asked my son, Alex, to wash his plate, and suddenly, he burst out:
“Why should I do this? I’m not your slave!”
“Slave?” I sighed, trying to stay calm. “How does helping out make you my slave?”
Feeling quite superior, Alex shot back, “You don’t pay me, do you? Unpaid work is slavery!”
My husband raised an eyebrow. “We support you, son. We give you shelter, feed you, clothe you, and educate you…” But no matter what we said, it didn’t seem to get through to him.
Finally, Alex tossed down his spoon: “If you want me to do things around here, you’d better pay me!”
I was on the verge of losing my patience, but my husband stepped in and calmly asked Alex how much he thought his “work” was worth. Alex named his price, and my husband, giving me a knowing look, agreed to pay him.
Alex smiled, thinking he’d won, completely unaware that a serious life lesson was on its way.
The next morning, Alex woke up to find an envelope with cash on his nightstand—his “payment” for washing his plate. He grinned, clearly pleased with himself, and joined us in the kitchen, looking very satisfied. My husband nodded to him and casually said, “Glad you’re up, Alex. Since you’re now a paid worker, there are a few things we need your help with today.”
Alex’s face froze. “What… things?”
“Well,” my husband said, handing him a list, “if you’re being paid for your contributions, then we have some tasks we’d normally do for you, but now you can handle them yourself. That includes washing your own clothes, cleaning your room, taking out the trash, and helping prepare meals.”
Alex’s eyes widened as he scanned the list. “This is too much! I only wanted to wash my plate!”
“That’s the thing,” I said gently, “in a family, everyone pitches in. If you want payment, then the work becomes a job, and you take on more responsibility. Otherwise, we all share the load to make things easier for each other.”
“But… but… I didn’t know it would be like this!”
My husband shrugged. “If you want to switch back to sharing household responsibilities without payment, we’re happy to. But if you want to keep earning, then the workload is going to match the deal.”
Alex thought it over. Later, he sat down with us and said, “I think… I’d rather just help out than get paid.” He took a deep breath, clearly a bit humbled. “I didn’t realize everything you guys do.”
I smiled, patting his shoulder. “It’s all part of being a family, Alex. We all do things for each other without expecting anything in return.”
From then on, Alex helped out without protest. And every now and then, he’d smile to himself when he picked up his plate, remembering that day he’d tried to charge us.
