Shoveling snow for our neighbor, Mr. Dickinson, who loves flaunting his wealth and bragging about his business ventures, was how my 12-year-old son planned to earn his money for Christmas gifts.
When Mr. Dickinson saw him one day and offered him $10 a day for shoveling the snow from his driveway, Ben was over the moon.
Although it was hard work, he was eager to be the one getting the dollhouse his sister Anne loved from the moment she saw it at the toy store’s window.
And for me, he wanted to gift me a Christmas scarf with snowflakes. “I’m saving what’s left for a telescope,” Ben said excitedly.
The thought of “earning” his own money by shoveling snow made him really happy.
On the first day, his little fingers were stiff, and his cheeks were red, but there was a smile on his face.
The following day, Ben’s excitement grew bigger. “Mom, I’m doing it faster now.”
Eight days of hard work passed by, and Ben was finally getting his money, or at least that’s what he thought.
While I was making dinner, he stormed inside the house with tears in his eyes. “What’s wrong, honey,” I asked.
He came closer, gave me a hug, and said, “Mom, Mr. Dickinson won’t pay me for shoveling snow all these days. He said no written contract, no money.”
My heart ached for my little boy, whom I had never seen as disappointed as he was in that moment.
“Don’t worry, Ben, I’ll handle this,” I assured him, put on my coat and shoes, and went straight to Mr. Dickinson.
He opened the door with a huge fake smile on his face. “Oh, what a pleasure, Mrs. Carter,” he said.
“I think you know why I’m here,” I said. “You owe my son $80 for his hard work of shoveling snow.”
“Well, Mrs. Carter, no contract, no payment. You know, that’s how real world works.”
Having heard that, I just turned around and left.
That evening, my husband and I made a plan. It was time that Mr. Dickinson learned a lesson of respecting a young man’s hard work.
In the morning, I told Ben and Anne to put on their winter clothes and get outside. When they asked me what we were doing that early, I told them we would be righting a wrong, and they both knew what I was talking about.
My husband fired up the snowblower, Ben grabbed his shovel, and even Anne was determined to help teach Mr. Dickinson a lesson.
First, we cleared our driveway and then moved to the sidewalk, making sure we created neat paths for the neighbors. Then, as the snow pile grew larger, we approached Mr. Dickinson’s clear driveway.
Scoop by scoop, we buried this mean neighbor’s driveway under a fortress of snow.
Our fingers froze, and we were exhausted. However, Mr. Dickinson’s face when he spotted the piles of snow on his driveway was worth the struggle.
He was angry and started yelling at us, threatening he would file a lawsuit.
I then turned to him and said, “Well, Mr. Dickinson, there is something called quantum meruit in the world of law. A legal concept that says if you don’t pay for someone’s work, you don’t get to enjoy the benefits.”
He said he didn’t care, and that he was calling the police anyways. But I reminded him there were plenty of witnesses among the neighbors who saw him exploit a minor without paying him for shoveling snow all way.
Needless to say, Mr. Dickinson understood he was wrong, and came knocking at our door with an envelope in his hand. Inside were the hard earned eight $10 bills.
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Bored Daddy
Love and Peace.
