I walk like he’s watching. Because he is. My son, Colton, was six when I realised how much he’d already absorbed. I’d given him two piggy banks: one short-term, one long-term. More often than not, his coins landed in the short-term jar. I asked him, “What are you saving for with your short-term jar?” He gave me a look. “A car, Mommy.” “An RC car? Hot Wheels?” “No, a real car. One I can drive when I’m big.” “You mean a car you can’t drive for ten years?” I asked. “Then what’s your long-term jar for?” “A house, Mommy.” Clearly, we were going to need a few more categories. We picked up more piggy banks from garage sales and second-hand shops. He labelled them all himself: Toys. Travel. A charity fund. He even had a Superman tin for Dad’s gifts. And when he wanted to surprise me, he’d go straight to Dad—who never said no. He was learning to design before he spent. To vote with every dollar. If a six-year-old can label his money according to the life he wants to build, maybe we can too. This is wealth that echoes Wealth isn’t about having more. It’s about aligning what you have with what truly matters and letting that ripple outward. It shows up in the way we leave things behind: clear records, written wishes, and the small, thoughtful details that say, “I was thinking of you.” In tax refunds that become turning points. Not because they’re big, but because this time, the money didn’t disappear. It built something. In conversations about money that start early
and build quietly. This isn’t flashy. But it lasts.
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