We don’ need no steenken budget

As I headed for the garage door, my mom put her hand on my shoulder. “Oh, honey,” she said in the same tone I’d heard at 12. “You’re going out? Again? And at this hour?” Pop was laying on the couch watching a movie. He looked at the clock, then me, and shook his head. Dopey kid.

I was a newly minted engineer and for the first time in my life, making real money. After toiling as a dishwasher, bagger, cashier, and busboy, I now shared an office with another Florida grad. It was a heady time. My name next to the door, my own desk, drafting table, filing cabinet.

But I left Gainesville on financial fumes, and had moved back into my old room while I built up a nest egg. That was the plan, at least.

But I saved little. Back in my home town, living like the young bon vivant with my old friends…most of my paycheck vanished. I dodged questions from my parents on how my bank account was doing.

And our relationship took a strange turn. They treated me like I was back in high school. Asking me if I should be going out at 8:30. I bristled. Damn it, Jim, I’m an engineer. I’m responsible for stuff. I attend meetings. At 22, I knew it all. Doesn’t everybody?

After six months, I’d had enough. I found an apartment, a one bedroom, palmetto bug-infested dump that lacked even a dishwasher. But it was mine.

My parents were aghast. As I was putting my few possessions in the car, my mom pleaded. Pop rattled off all the benefits of staying: free rent; free laundry service; free home-cooked meals; free utilities. As I drove away, they both had hands on hips. Dopey kid.

The prodigal son fell flat on his face within six months. My tiny dining room table was filled with second- and third-notice bills. My landlady scowled as I handed her the rent check a week late. I had to borrow money from my brother.

God looked down at the dopey kid one day as I drove to work and took pity. I felt an urge to switch to an unfamiliar station, where they were just beginning a program about budgeting. It was so compelling, I listened until the end and snuck into work late.

I was determined; like Scarlett O’Hara, I would never be hungry again. I used Lotus 1-2-3 to create a budget listing income, taxes, deductions, and all my expenses. I divided the latter into fixed and discretionary. I was appalled at how little I had left for fun stuff. I kicked myself for leaving home.

For six months. I put myself back in college model—mac and cheese, dates of going to the beach or parks, peanut butter brown-bag lunches—and I slowly crawled out of debt. After that, I became a skinflint, questioning every purchase. I logged stuff on Lotus and kept to my limits. I contributed to an IRA. I dropped the dream of buying a Camaro and nursed my high school clunker along for another six years.

It was a tough lesson to learn, but I guess all important ones are like that. At least for me. But I’ve maintained this budgeting discipline throughout my life, adjusting it as needed.

And of course, all of this was cagily shielded from Mom and Pop. All they knew was that the kid had somehow emerged from his cocoon of dopiness into the world of fiscal responsibility. Somehow, we must have taught him that.

Of course you did. Love you guys 😉❤️