The day I became a professional tag player in a very different kind of game. I thought adulthood would look different. On my respectable age, I thought life would be more… dignified. I am deliberately not naming a number here, but let’s just say I am old enough to always know where the scissors are, and young enough to not need ointment for everything yet. In my imagination, I would be doing very grown-up things. Working a bit. Reading quietly in a peaceful home. Quietly, I repeat. And my children, now fully capable of speaking in complete sentences, would occasionally send me messages like: “Hey mom, how are you?” Spoiler alert: that is not how it works.
Enter digital tag
Instead, I now play tag every day. Not the cute childhood version where you run across a playground while screaming children chase you. No. This is the adult version. The financial survival version. The digital game I now know as Tikkie. Tag, you are it. Because honestly, I receive more Tikkies than hugs. Or “hi”. Or even emojis that do not involve money. My teenagers have fully mastered the system. They do not ask anymore. They just send a link.
The modern shopping list of doom
“€2.50 spicy chicken sandwich”
“€18.50 new mascara (was on sale!!)”
“€3.75 school lunch (forgot to make bread, sorry)”
“€24.99 SHEIN shirt (no pressure but almost sold out!!)”
And if I do not pay quickly, I get a message: Mom? Where are you? I am hungry. As if I am personally responsible for global lunch logistics.
A quick explanation for the uninitiated
In the Netherlands, we have an app called Tikkie. It works a lot like Venmo, Cash App, or PayPal. You use it to send payment requests to friends, split bills, or quickly get money back when someone says “I’ll pay you later” and you both know that later might never come. What makes it especially fun is the name itself: Tikkie. In Dutch, “tikkie” comes from the word for tapping someone on the shoulder. It is also closely related to the childhood game “tikkertje,” which is basically tag, where kids run around a schoolyard trying to tap each other and shout that they are “it.” So it is quite a playful name for something so practical. Instead of sounding serious or financial, it feels light, almost like you are gently tapping someone and saying, “Hey, don’t forget that €12.50 you owe me.”
Back to my role as walking ATM
Sometimes I try to stay light about it. I say things like, “So nice, paid it already! You guys really know how to find me.” But internally, something small dies every time. Because I am not a bank. I am not a contactless payment terminal. I am not a limitless subscription service called Mother. Although at this point, it does sometimes feel like I should come with a PIN code and a receipt printer.
The emotional blackmail is subtle but effective
The worst part is not even the requests. It is the confidence. A Tikkie arrives with the energy of a CEO closing a deal. No “if you want to”. No “could you maybe”. Just a quiet digital demand for financial cooperation. And yet, I still pay. Because I think: well yes, it is also annoying to be hungry at school. Or maybe that shirt really is important in the delicate ecosystem of teenage survival. And just like that, I am playing again. Not for fun. Not voluntarily. But with surprising dedication.
The fantasy of revenge Tikkies
Of course, I sometimes consider sending my own. “€2.50 for the milk you put back in the fridge with one drop left” “€1.10 for toilet paper I had to restock again” “€4.44 emotional damage caused by puberty behavior” “€6.50 for the school project I finished at 11 PM while you were watching TikTok” But I already know the response. “Haha ok boomer mom.” Or worse: “Can you resend the link, it is not working.” Because teenagers are remarkably skilled at outsmarting logic with confidence and WiFi.
The truth about the game
So here I am. In a game I thought I had outgrown. Not running across a playground, but navigating digital requests for survival essentials. Not a tap on the shoulder, but a tap on my bank account. And still, I keep playing. Because I am not just their mother. I am their safety net. Their backup plan. Their walking financial support system. Their Tikkie machine.
Maybe it is not just money
And yet… sometimes I wonder if this is not just about money. Maybe it is their way of saying: I trust you. I rely on you. I know you will show up when I need something. A modern kind of love note, disguised as a payment request. Not: I love you. But: I need you. And I know you will not let me down. Tag, you are it. And strangely enough… that is kind of beautiful.
A small request to the real children reading this
If you are a teenager reading this, try something once. Surprise your mom. Not with a Tikkie. But with a message. A thank you. A hug. A cup of tea she did not ask for. Trust me. That is worth more than any amount of money.
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