When every purchase was meaningful, confusing

I stood behind them at the pet store near Costco in Green Valley. They were two preteen boys, holding what appeared to be a small box to transport small rodents – maybe for a hamster. Or a rat.

The smaller boy pulled out a sweaty dollar bill and put it on the counter, along with a handful of change.

"Will that be enough?" he asked the checker.

"It will. We'll get back 15 cents," said his friend, confidently.

I smiled as the checker rang up the item, then counted out the money. There was a lot of change.

"Actually, you get seven cents back," she said, handing him back a nickel and two pennies.

Tax. They'd forgotten the tax. But the boys paid and headed out. They got on bikes and left, riding across the sweeping parking lot, back to their houses where, presumably, a hamster, rat or mouse awaited a new transportation device.

It was sweet. It was suburban. It was also something that rarely happens in the 21st century, both because many kids aren't allowed to ride their bikes to the store and because so many kids have so much money that they don't sweat over whether a dollar and change will be enough for their purchase.

It reminded me of being in their position.

I didn't grow up poor, but I was raised in an era of tight allowances and of needing to save up to buy things. I also grew up in a home that was a couple of miles from the nearest store, so the opportunity to actually purchase things was a treat.

I was a saver, not a spender.

I would put away my weekly allowance – first a few quarters, then a dollar or two – for weeks. Or months. The goal was to buy something good: a box of baseball cards, a Nerf football or maybe even a 10-speed bike.

My shopping trips were significant. I remember bringing cash to the store, then staring at the annual issue of Street and Smith's Baseball Preview or at a new transistor radio and weighing its value.

I'd grab it off the counter, then think about whether it was worth so many weeks' allowance. I'd put it back.

But I'd keep considering it. Money was in my pocket – I always checked several times, fearful that I'd lose it – and it might be quite some time before I could make another purchase.

When I decided to make a purchase, I'd do the same dance done by the boys in front of me at the pet store. I'd nervously go the counter and do the most adult thing imaginable: Put my item on the counter and pay for it with my own money.

Sweaty singles. Random change. I was good at math, but taxes confused me. Invariably, I'd wait until the item was rung up, then count out my money. One dollar, two dollars, three dollars, four dollars. A quarter, another quarter, two dimes and three pennies. I'd slide it to the checker, who took it, bagged my item and handed it to me.

Undoubtedly, there were smiling adults behind me. I never noticed, because I was relieved I had enough. And invariably, I almost immediately had buyer's remorse.

Did I waste my money on something not worth it?

I hope the boys at the pet store didn't have buyer's remorse. I hope they enjoyed their purchase. It was definitely worth it.

For me, at least.

Brad Stanhope is a former Daily Republic editor. Reach him at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.