My little ducklings from the 90s are now roller-coaster dropping into adulthood, one by one. We sent one off to college this year, and are celebrating the pending independence of our current high school senior. She has big plans to travel abroad after graduation, so we went to get her a legit bank account.
She will be 18 in a few weeks and I was willing to let her handle everything herself, but she wanted me there for back up. She was even the one who realized we might need her social security card/number and ran back in to get it. Immediately she tore off the flap.
Me: “You aren’t supposed to do that.”
Her: “But it told me to. Why am I not supposed to?”
Me: “I don’t know. Something about security.”
Her: “Well, I need to sign it too. Where’s a pen.”
Me: “NO! DON’T sign it.”
Her: “Why not?”
Me: “I don’t know…it’s just better if you don’t.”
Maybe this type of conversation is why she thinks I am clueless all the time.
So in we walk to the bank. After explaining that she wanted a savings account with a debit card to make payments for her trip, we were underway. We got the paperwork completed, got a temporary card, as well as a thick booklet of information. As our guy walked away to make her deposit: a big bill, a check, and $28 in rolled coins, I asked her if she felt like a grown up.
Her: “Well, not really. I keep getting distracted by the giant stuffed horse over there. When he asked me for my SS# I pulled out a sticker, and then when I went to pull out my license from my wallet, it was underneath my fake ID.”
Me: “You have a fake ID?”
Her: “Yeah. Beth made it for me.”
After everything was completed, the banker said that since it was a new account, he had a smaller stuffed horse for us, commemorating the 100 year anniversary of the bank.
She was thrilled.
She’s a little bit grown up, and a little bit little girl.