IrishTown: Kids

I've got multiple sacks of groceries:

"I could carry those in for you," B-- said. "Then you could pay me fifty cents."

"Need help with those?" An eight-year-old this time.

"Hey, your dog." (Rosie on a sit-stay, guarding my car, my stuff, my open door.) "Is he friendly?"
"Yeah, she's very nice. Her name is Rosie."
"I could watch your stuff," the kid said. "Then the dog could go in. That's worth a quarter, isn't it?"

"I think I'm all done, but thanks," I said. "I might have a quarter, let me check."

They buy Christmas presents for their grandma at the resale shop, formerly the abandoned furniture shop. Dirty china figurines, someone's discarded craft project.
"That is very nice of you," I say. "Your grandma, she's special, huh?"

They shuffle their feet. That means yes, grandma is special--but they also feel guilty because they bought a candy bar too, for themselves. All over the mall, shoppers are buying one for Uncle Jones and one for themselves. But the either-or shows up more starkly around here.

Something happens to these kids at around age ten or twelve, and I know what it is. They get tired of looking for work. They get tired of trying to carry the load for a quarter. They learn a dirty china figurine is something to be laughed at. They get a little hard, and it doesn't go away.