Five dollars is not a lot of money—unless you’re 7.
Then five dollars feels like you can buy almost anything—especially when you’re standing in the candy aisle.
The 7-year-old I care for recently had five dollars in his pocket and knew exactly what he wanted to do with it. So we went to the store.
I told him he could buy whatever he wanted with his money. He could choose.
Part of what I wanted to give him was autonomy. It was his money, so within reason, I wanted the decision to be his too. Choosing what to buy, deciding whether something was worth the price and eventually handing over his own money were all part of it.
He carefully picked out his candy, reconsidered a few choices, made some very serious financial decisions and eventually walked up to the register.
I stayed a little behind him.
The cashier rang everything up, then looked right past him and told me the total.
I looked at him instead.
“She said it’s $4.37.”
He stared at me.
Then at the cashier.
Then down at his pocket.
Suddenly, buying candy involved a little more than choosing the candy.
He started pulling out crumpled bills, and with a little help from me, we counted them together right there at the counter.
Five dollars. Perfect.
He held the money out to me.
“Not me,” I said. “Give it to her.”
He turned toward the cashier and handed her the bills.
Success.
Meanwhile, the line behind us kept growing.
People were waiting, shifting around, probably wondering why buying one bag of candy was taking quite this long.
My apologies to everyone who was in that line.
I promise there was a reason.
What had started as a quick stop for candy had turned into a pretty good teaching opportunity, and I didn’t want to rush it.
I could have easily reached over, taken the money from him and finished the transaction myself.
It would have been faster.
But faster wasn’t the point.
He grabbed his candy and immediately walked away.
“Wait,” I called after him. “Your change.”
He turned around.
The cashier instinctively reached across the counter and tried to hand the coins to me.
I pointed at him.
“It’s his.”
So she handed him the change, and he put it back in his pocket.
Now the transaction was actually complete.
It was such a small moment, but I kept thinking about it afterward because adults do this constantly with children.
We answer questions that were asked to them. We order for them. We carry their things. We zip the jacket because they’re taking forever. We tie the shoe because we have somewhere to be. We grab the money, take the change and keep everyone moving.
Usually, we’re just in a hurry.
And I get it. I’ve been guilty of it too. Sometimes it's easier to tie the shoe yourself than to stand there watching a child struggle with the laces for five minutes, especially when you're already late.
But I think there's something worth noticing about those moments when we have the time and still find ourselves stepping in.
Children watch us constantly. They copy the way we talk, the way we interact with people and the way we move through the world. But watching us do something isn’t the same as getting to do it themselves.
He had probably watched adults pay for things hundreds of times. But this time, he was the one standing at the register, listening to the cashier, counting his money and figuring out what came next.
And he didn't have to do everything perfectly or completely alone. I helped him count. I reminded him about his change. But the money was his, the decisions were his and so was that little moment of accomplishment.
Those little skills don’t suddenly appear when children get older. They’re built through ordinary moments like this one, when an adult gives them enough time to try.
Sometimes caring for children means resisting the urge to make everything easier.
It means standing a few feet behind them instead of stepping in front.
It means giving them the extra minute to answer, count, decide or figure out what comes next—even when we already know the answer.
And yes, sometimes it means making the people behind you wait while a 7-year-old conducts a very important five-dollar business transaction.
He walked out of the store that day with candy in one hand, change in his pocket and the satisfaction of having done the whole thing himself.
Five dollars well spent.