The Big Sister Tax

I inherited my mother's smile and her father's curly hair, but not her prowess for bargaining. My brother got that, and as a result my family would regularly try to out-scam each other.

She and I went shopping for a desk and bookshelf for my college apartment, and was able to effectively argue $40 off the price of both. She shows me her garage sale treasure trove when I visit, entertaining herself more than me with a rundown of what her trinkets had cost and what she actually paid for them. When I was younger, she would ask me to do random tasks for her. "I'll give you a dollar," she'd say. Tempted by pocket change in a time when I was too old for an allowance but too young for a summer job, I'd do it and report for pay. She'd dig through her purse, cock her head, search some more, and say, "Here's sixty cents. Seventy-five. It's all I can find."

"There's a roll of quarters in the side pocket."

"I need those for laundry. Most kids do these things without getting paid, you know."

I really couldn't argue with that. Clearly, I also inherited a gullible naivete that was unprecedented in either side of my parentage--as well as a strong, indignant sense of justice. Later, when I had a permit and she'd make me go on Taco Bell or McDonalds dinner runs for "driving practice," I'd keep a portion of the change and tell her the order was more expensive than it really was.

Where my mom uses charm, chatter, and pathos to get less than her money's worth on possessions, my brother is wily, hard-nosed, and underhandedly businesslike. He was able to buy a $1400 computer for less than half the price because he took advantage of the rebate, a friend's Best Buy discount, and my dad. He'd have "penny auctions" or sell his toys to me, and take them back later when he wanted to use them again. When we were older, he'd ask to borrow money, vowing to pay me back the next Tuesday. We'd write out an I.O.U., which I'd either lose, forget about, or remind him about it a few days later to a stream of more promises. I returned the favor by picking up all the loose change on his bedroom floor and keeping it.

On an overnight visit to my grandmother's house, I awoke to she and my mother talking about money. It was boring until I heard my name come up.

"I don't know what I should do. It's gotten so bad that I've had to take money out of Meredith's savings account again. I already had to take out two hundred dollars last month to pay the bills. I don't want it to get so far that I won't be able to pay it back without her noticing."

I was fifteen. I pretended to still be asleep. My grandmother offered her some sage, motherly, understanding musing that I didn't pay a speck of attention to because I couldn't get past the fact that our family was in financial trouble (though it was a fairly regualr occurrence) and my mom was stealing my money that I earned working thirty-nine hours a week at a job I despised. After we returned home, I mentioned that I wanted sole control of my savings account, but I chickened out when she asked why and got defensive. To her credit, she paid it back in full and I never noticed any missing at any other time. I wonder how desperate she really was.

When my brother was fifteen and going through a rough time with her, he accidentally ruined two towels with cheap hair dye. She told him she was going to take money out of his account to replace them, and he promptly closed it down and opened up a new one at another bank. My brother was never one to take injustice lying down either.