Essential Baby blogger Joseph Kelly
I’ve started noticing lately that the older I get the more idealised my childhood becomes. For example, when I was a kid we used to strip off in summer and run through a sprinkler in our front garden. Naked, in view of the whole neighbourhood and running through real water. Without sunscreen. Imagine that!!!
The other thing I remember (or at least I think I remember) is that with just twenty cents I could go down to the corner store and buy just about everything in the shop with the possible exception of the freehold title. My memory is a bit rusty on this, but I seem to recall that for my twenty cents I could buy one choo-choo bar, a packet of Fonzies (or chicken Twisties depending on my mood), a killer python, two king rats, a sausage roll, a potato cake and a strawberry Big M. And still have change left over for a taxi home.
So when Maisie lost her first tooth recently I was immediately transported to my idyllic childhood and the wonder of waking up to find a single shining twenty cent coin under my pillow. I was clued in enough to know that in the twenty-first century twenty cents wasn’t going to stretch too far, but I had no idea what the modern equivalent was. As Susie always seems to have her finger on the parenting pulse I thought I’d ask her what the going rate for the Tooth Fairy was.
“The rule” Susie explained “is that it can’t be any more than one coin”. Susie said this with such conviction I was positive it must have been one of the things they taught us in pre-natal classes.
“Could it be a note?” I thought out loud.
“Absolutely no notes. The Tooth Fairy only leaves coins”. Again, Susie’s tone let me know that she wasn’t just making this stuff up – this was all from the Parenting Gospel.
With Maisie safely asleep I snuck into her room and magically transformed her first tooth into a two dollar coin. After wrapping her tooth in tissue paper and stuffing it into my sock draw I put myself to bed and embarked on a long and magical dream-journey involving me, a giant twenty cent piece and an unending row of lolly counters. This dream was unceremoniously shattered when, several hours later, Maisie came into our room chucking an absolute birko.
“I ONLY GOT TWO DOLLARS!!!” she screamed accusingly. Heaving sob. Heaving sob. “Sean at school got six dollars!!” Heaving sob.
Even though I was only half awake, I could still work out that there was no way a single coin could add up to six dollars. Was it even remotely possible that Sean’s parents had broken the Parenting Gospel?
“Two dollars is still a lot of money Maisie” Susie tried to explain. “You should be grateful for what you’ve been given.”
“But Sean got six dollars!!!” Maisie's six-year-old sense of justice was far greater that any feelings of gratitude.
I decided it was time I should weigh into the discussion.
“You know, Maisie?” I started “When the Tooth Fairy starts off at night she has no idea how many kids have lost their teeth. Last night there must have been a lot of kids who lost their teeth, so the Tooth Fairy could only give them all one coin. Next time you lose a tooth there might not be so many missing teeth, so you might get more coins.”
Finally a pause in the heaving sobs.
“I suppose so” reasoned Maisie. Then, after a long pause she looked at me and added “And you can give me the other four dollars”.
So Maisie’s first Tooth Fairy experience taught her that the Tooth Fairy is unreliable, but that you can always rely on extorting dad. For me the experience showed that when it comes to playing parents off each other, kids are experts. It also taught me that if you want to know how much the Tooth Fairy is paying, ask a school kid – parents have no idea!
What are the rules with the Tooth Fairy? Does the Parenting Gospel decree only one coin? Is there in fact a Parenting Gospel and, if so, what are the penalties for breaking it? What else is in the Parenting Gospel? Comment on Joseph's blog here.
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