When my 12-year-old son Ben accepted our wealthy neighbor’s offer to shovel snow for $10 a day, he was thrilled to earn money for gifts. But his excitement turned to heartbreak when the man refused to pay, calling it a “lesson about contracts.” That’s when I decided to teach a lesson of my own.
Ben had always had a big heart and determination far beyond his years. He spent weeks diligently shoveling, dreaming of buying me a scarf, his sister a dollhouse, and saving for a telescope. His hard work and joy were contagious, and I admired his dedication.
But on December 23rd, Ben came home, tears in his eyes. “Mr. Dickinson said he’s not paying me,” he choked out. “He said I needed a contract.” Anger surged through me. No one cheats a child like that.
The next morning, my husband, Ben, and I got to work. We shoveled snow not just from our driveway but piled it all back onto Dickinson’s pristine drive. Hours later, his sleek car was buried under a mountain of snow.
When Dickinson stormed over, shouting, I calmly explained: “It’s called quantum meruit. If you don’t pay for someone’s labor, you don’t get to enjoy the results. Fair’s fair.” His face turned red as neighbors silently watched. Realizing he’d lost, Dickinson stomped back inside.
By evening, he returned with an envelope containing $80 and a mumbled apology. Ben’s face lit up as he held the money. “Thanks, Mom,” he said, hugging me.
“No, Ben,” I whispered, ruffling his hair. “Thank you for reminding me what real perseverance looks like.”