the small game theory of economics

You don't have to have kids to learn that they cost money.

In lieu of final exam preparation or other classroom study, today's weather mandated a trip to Buffalo Springs Lake. "Lake," in this case, is a term that is used with the same cavalier attitude toward the truth as Michael Corleone's use of the term "family." Yet despite its claim to water that appears to have been stagnent since the Carter Administration, the lake appears to contain some fish.

My plan in trekking out to this muck-ridden sinkhole was not to fish. Rather, some law school friends of mine have been planning an entire weekend of barbecue, dominoes, and general revelry out at the lake for what seems like the last two years, and the weekend has finally arrived. Not long after I arrived this afternoon, though, one of said law student's 10-year old offspring wanted to do some fishing.

So what did I do? I took the kid fishing. I showed him how to string up his open-line reel, how to set up a Carolina rig, how to tie a proper fisherman's knot, and how to cast one out there. And I did this well.

So of course something had to go wrong amid this little slice of Good Old American Fun. Not twenty minutes after we put out the first cast, a representative of Texas Parks & Wildlife pulled up.

Up to this point, my barbecue and softball-filled Saturday had cost me exactly the $3.00 lake admission fee and, more importantly, the opportunity cost of lost study time. Stated another way, this trip cost very little. At least until Warden showed up.

And what's the thanks I get for teaching a little kid to fish in 2005 America? I don't know yet, but you can bet the ticket for fishing without a license will cost more than $3.00.

I didn't stay at the lake. The opportunity cost of fishing versus studying rose to more than I can afford, so it's back to the books.