I recently took our 12-year-old son to open a bank account. He might be a “digital native,” but I wanted him to experience a bricks-and-mortar branch for his first handshake with a banker.
The son of a bank teller myself, I’ve always thought of bank branches as just one step down from churches. Maybe it’s the guys in ties. Or maybe it’s the ritual exchange of money.
For several weeks, our son had been asking for his own savings account. He has a little pressure-washing business, and he wanted a place to stash his cash. So a week ago Friday, he combed his hair, flossed his teeth and gathered about $250 in checks and cash. We showed up at midday at our neighborhood bank branch and asked for a minute with a bank manager.
Mark KennedyI explained that my son was there representing his “business,” and that he wanted to establish a minor’s account and start a “relationship” with a bank.
Taking my cue, the manager shifted his attention to the 12-year-old and treated me (correctly) as a bystander.
“Well, hello, Mr. Kennedy,” he said to my son, shaking his hand and gesturing him into his office. “Why don’t you have a seat right there, and let me get a little information.”
My son gave his name and address, but stumbled when asked his Social Security number.
Anticipating this, I produced a lock-box key, and the manager entered the branch safe to retrieve our tray of valuables. I took the chance to explain to my son how a bank vault works and how our lock-box contents – including our important papers – were protected from fire, theft and flooding.
After about 5 minutes of searching in vain for his Social Security card, we did what we should have done earlier: called “Mommy,” who had his Social Security number at her fingertips.
Back in the manager’s office, my son was asked about his savings goal. He said he eventually wants to buy an industrial-grade pressure washer and has mentally budgeted about $1,000 for the purchase.
The banker asked how many jobs he does a month, on average, and how much they pay. He punched some numbers in his computer and determined that my son should be able to make his capital purchase by late summer, even after giving himself a generous monthly allowance for incidentals.
Then we went over some banking terms: how to endorse a check, the difference in a deposit and a withdrawal, and the concept of interest.
Next, my son and I went to the tellers counter to make his deposit. He endorsed his checks and handed over a well-earned $100 bill. He got a receipt and an invitation to put his business card – “Low pressure sales, high pressure washing” – on the bank’s bulletin board.
“So do you feel like a grown-up now?” I asked as we left the bank.
View other columns by Mark Kennedy
“No, I still feel 12,” he said.
“Good,” I said. “You’re my favorite 12-year-old.”
We decided to have a business lunch – at Waffle House – and then to take a drive out to Home Depot and Lowe’s to look at new pressure washers.
We bought a squeegee and a gas can.
“I like the feeling of having money in the bank,” he said.
“Good,” I said. “That’s an important feeling to have.”
Sometimes, as a parent, you just know a kid is going to remember something. I think my son will remember our father-son outing at the bank.
It’s one of those tiny moments in the life of a child that makes you feel immortal.
Contact Mark Kennedy at 423-757-6645 or mkennedy@timesfreepress.com.