My neighbor, Mr. Dickinson, loves flaunting his wealth, always bragging about his business ventures and luxury toys. So when he offered my 12-year-old son, Ben, $10 to clear his driveway each time it snowed, Ben was over the moon. He talked endlessly about the gifts he’d buy for the family with his earnings, his little face lit up with excitement.
Ben worked hard through the first few snowfalls, waking early to shovel before school, cheeks flushed from the cold. Each evening, he’d proudly tally his earnings, his eyes shining with joy.
But two days before Christmas, Ben came home in tears. He wouldn’t talk at first, but after some coaxing, the story spilled out.
“Mr. Dickinson says HE’S NOT PAYING ME A SINGLE CENT,” Ben choked out, his voice trembling. “He said I should take this as a lesson—to never accept a job without a contract.”
Anger surged through me. What kind of man cheats a child to teach “business lessons”? Ben had poured his heart into this job, and Dickinson dismissed it like a joke. I hugged my son tightly. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” I said, my voice steady. “I’ll handle this.”
That evening, I grabbed my coat and marched to Mr. Dickinson’s door.
When my 12-year-old son, Ben, agreed to shovel snow for our wealthy neighbor, Mr. Dickinson, for $10 a day, he was thrilled to buy gifts for the family. But when Mr. Dickinson refused to pay, calling it a “lesson about contracts,” Ben was heartbroken. I decided to teach Mr. Dickinson a lesson he’d never forget.
Ben had a big heart and a strong work ethic. Every day, he’d shovel the driveway, his excitement growing as he neared his goal of buying a dollhouse for his sister and a scarf for me. But on December 23rd, after working hard all morning, Ben came home in tears. Mr. Dickinson had refused to pay, claiming there was no contract.
Angry and determined, I went to Mr. Dickinson’s house. He smugly dismissed me, saying that’s how the “real world” works. I smiled sweetly and walked away, already planning my revenge.
The next morning, while Mr. Dickinson slept, our family bundled up and went to work. We shoveled snow from our driveway and pushed it all onto his, creating a massive snowbank. By mid-morning, his driveway was buried under a mountain of snow.
When Mr. Dickinson confronted us, I explained the legal concept of quantum meruit—that if you refuse to pay for labor, you lose the right to enjoy the benefit of it. He blustered, but I had witnesses. Defeated, he returned later with $80 in cash and apologized to Ben.
Ben smiled, and I whispered, “Thank you for showing me what real determination looks like.”
