Capital Gains
Coupled with my lack of business finesse, my lack of drive in the arena of finance has always perplexed me. And made me feel a little out of the loop, in so far as societal priorities are concerned. During the period of .coms, I felt, for probably the first time in my life, a feeling of missing something. Was I missing something? Everyone was jumping into the stock market and making beaucoups cash. I even went so far as to contact my little brother. But I didn’t jump in. It’s not some fiscal wisdom, but frankly an absolute and total lack of interest. I do not care about money. There. I said it. Usually this is uttered from the mouths of the super-rich because, when you have it, you can act like you don’t care about it. That doesn’t apply here…….even slightly. This is also a lofty statement made by an upper middle class citizen who has never experienced life without cash, and therefore can dismiss its importance. Again. Inapplicable. I have been without. Perhaps it’s because I was not taught by a severe driving example the value of a dollar. I was given an allowance. I wasn’t spoiled but I had what I needed and some of what I wanted. But my dad was a man who detested materialism. He was a doctor and he provided well for his family and his wife, even after he died. But stuff was not important to him. Education? Important. Manners? Important. Kindness to animals? Important. Putting others before oneself? Important. A new car. Not so important. For as much as I rebelled against my racist father, I absorbed and took to heart his lack of materialism. If I had money, I spent it, on fun stuff with my friends. If they didn’t have money, who cares? I do! Let’s have fun! Weird though, when the table turned and friends had money, I couldn’t accept their generosity. My dad also instilled the proverb “neither a borrower nor a lender be”. I used that adage as my retort but in actuality, I was prideful. I could pay for others, but (balk) others would not pay for me. It’s perception really. Within a moment, you can honestly believe that you are behaving for an honorable or trusted reason, when in hindsight the realization is made that you were ducking behind something to avoid a character flaw that needed addressing. Although that lesson has been put before me many times, the lesson of allowing others to give to me is a strength not a weakness, it has taken me years to confront it within myself. And as usual, it had to happen to someone I love before I realized the need for reevaluation of myself.
My older brother, Paul, was left in England when my family moved here. To go to boarding school. At seven. My entire extended family lived in England, but we were here – my mom, dad, sister, and I, and later, my younger brother, who got to stay in the US. Which never made any sense to me, but who was I? Paul would come to visit during the summer and at Christmas, and I adored him. He was like……a present. A funny, cute, quick, athletic guy that came and lit up our family twice a year. I never understood why he couldn’t stay. I always felt the undercurrent of disappointment and anger with him and sadness with my mom, but when you’re a kid and your parents make a decision like that, you just think they know what they’re doing. Family history aside, Paul came home at, I think, 17, full of resentment, frustration and disgust with all of us. He went to Texas A&M, got accepted into the Vet school in his junior year and graduated four years later. To say he is brilliant is an understatement. Witty, artistic, obviously first born, because he grabbed as many of the gifts as he could possible get into his outstretched arms, leaving the rest of us to pick through the remains. He had a veterinary practice that flourished under his incredible example of deep concern and compassion for the animals and their owners. Everyone loved him. His wife, Sam, is a beautiful, simple Christian woman who he adores and who adores him. Then BAM! Is it five or six years now, I don’t know, but he noticed that something was wrong and after keeping it a secret for months finally told all of us that he has Lou freakin Gehrig’s disease – ALS. God. What a blow. You know cancer is horrible but they are making huge strides in combating the disease. As they are with heart disease. But ALS? No advances whatsoever. Your body turns on you and shuts down – you basically lose all capacity of motor function – talking, moving, breathing etc. – until you suffocate. Your mind? Completely intact. His mind is completely intact. Can you even fathom that? Here is a guy who everyone depended on, deacon at the church, rotary club, humane society volunteer doc, Sunday school teacher, two kids and a wife; and his life is slammed into a brick wall. He lost his ability to speak almost immediately, which was truly cruel as his love for the English language was only surpassed by his ability to turn a phrase. Clever, creative and witty. A man that never ever leaned on anyone. He was a reserved, private man. And then he gets laid out. Now, he can no longer give anything to anyone, at least in his mind. Yet, the miracle of the past six or so years is how others have exhibited an unabashed adoration for him and flock to assist him. His family is completely sustained by the community. His church has risen to the task fulfilling all the needs of not just him, but his family. Someone paid for the kids to stay in their private school, until graduation. Someone paid for him and his family to fly, first class, to England to see his family for the last time. Someone built an addition to the house that is handicap accessible. Meals, transport, cars, lawn and pool maintenance, fellowship, a masseuse for his degenerating muscles, the list is endless. For six years it has not lulled in the slightest. And he can give nothing back to the people that help him. In his mind. But you talk to the people who do help, who come and read to him, who take his son out and teach him woodworking or soccer, who mow his lawn, who makes the family a complete dinner, you ask them what they get out of it. Every single one of them has something else to do, a family, a job or two, a house. What do they get out of it? The absolute joy of giving. The sparkle in his eyes. Being able to help someone who has helped so many. Because he did. He helped so many people. When he was diagnosed with this crushing disease, two of his friends took him and his wife to their lake house. It is a beautiful and serene environment, and one of them said that she wanted to pray for the rapture. She wanted the end to come. He stopped her and said, please don’t do that yet. There are members of my family who still aren’t Christians. Please don’t do that yet.

He was talking about me.

In the midst of this mind-numbing horror, knowing that his body would shut down and encapsulate him for an indefinite period of time, he stopped to think about me.

About me?

There are times in your life when you are so humbled that you cannot begin to understand the magnanimousness of that moment. When Paul, in the tornadic whirl that his life had become, asked me to join him in an online bible study of Peter I, promising that it would change my life, I jumped in. He led me to Christ, when he was no longer able to walk, he took my hand and led me to eternal salvation. In the throes of what must have been the most hideous time of his life, he thought of others. Now THAT’S a giver.

Sigh.

Pride. I still struggle with it. But I am getting better. I do allow people to do things for me. I know the joy of giving. Of offering something to someone with no inkling of want for something in return. Giving to other people feels good. Volunteering is a legal high. So I do it as much as possible. And I allow others to do it for me.
But back to money. I think there are people in this world that understand the real value of money, who have all that stuff balanced in their heads, have an aptitude for saving, stocks and bonds, dividends, interest rates……. But that person is not me. Just writing that made me a little dizzy. When my sister starts talking about her 401k and investments my mind is thrust into a kind of white noise, Hans Solo warp speed to anywhere but here. I drift. I fog up. I cannot explain it any other way. And believe me, I have tried to care about this stuff. I went to Texas A&M and studied accounting, for crying out loud! But I’m afraid that gene is missing. The money gene. If someone knows of a therapy or some clinical trial, please let me know.

I suppose there are worse things. Worse things than not being preoccupied with money. I am such a cheap date. I don’t want a lot of stuff. I don’t need a lot of gear. I am not big on jewelry or cars or big houses or items that exude wealth and image. I bore so easily with what I consider to be distractions. I would save my children, my husband and my animals from a burning building. If I had time, I would save my photos. I have always been up for re-starting. Just give me a toothbrush and I’m ready to go. Everything that truly matters to me is documented in my memory. Every moment of my boys’ lives, every friend, every precious moment with my husband, every nanosecond with my family. It’s all here. That’s true wealth, whatever anyone tells you. I am rich because my people value me, and in a moment when the world was imploding, my brother extended his hand, pulled me close and gave me the most prized gift of all, and for that I will be eternally grateful.