“So, when people get grounded, does that mean they don't have to pay their part of the rent – because you don't pay rent in jail, you know.”
Nine-year-old George Ludlow was very unhappy that his best friend Milton Trent was locked up – er, grounded – and was looking for the bright side where he could.
His grandmother, Mrs. Thalia Ludlow, understood this, and smiled gently.
“Adults don't get grounded; they get jailed,” she said, “because there are things adults do on purpose that means they don't need to be out here doing them to you and me and our stuff. Kids get grounded so they can think about their behavior and do better because a loss of privileges is what gets human attention better than anything else.”
“But, what about the rent – I mean, a jail cell isn't much, but, how does all that work?” George said.
“The cities, states, the federal government, and some private companies work out the rent for the criminals,” Mrs. Ludlow said, “and we grandparents and guardians pay rent for you. The difference is, George, nobody expects you or Milton to pay the rent.”
“That's good because we can't afford the rent,” George said, “partially because we never get to really get an idea together before someone is on our necks and grounding us.”
“And, partially because there are child labor laws, and you two are nine and do not have to be bothered yet,” Mrs. Ludlow said.
“Really?” George said. “I mean, the way I was treated in foster care, I was sure I had to earn the rent or get put on the street.”
“That's called abuse, George, and neglect,” Mrs. Ludlow said. “In reality, the state paid your foster parents for your being there.”
“Oh, so that's why Papa said they better plead guilty before he put them six feet under the jail,” George said.
“Among other things,” Mrs. Ludlow said, “but yeah: you don't have to afford the rent, George, and neither does Milton. Y'all can just do nine-year-old things and be happy.”
“Thanks, Grandma,” George said. “I feel better now.”
