When I was eighteen, I received a $1,000 bequest from my grandmother.  It was a godsend.  I used the money, together with all of my savings, to buy a new car.

My proud purchase was a metallic blue VW Bug that cost all of $1,800.  I had found the best price from a dealer eighty miles from my home. On the drive back, the Bug was really sluggish and wouldn’t go any faster than 45 miles per hour.  When I parked my new car on the street in front of my home I discovered the reason – I had left the emergency brake on during my entire trip.

Fortunately, no great damage was done, and once again I offer grandma my thanks.  Today I drive a Tesla that accelerates so fast it’s ludicrous. I’m not sure it has even heard of an emergency brake.

Now I’m preparing to distribute what remains of my dad’s estate which will go in equal shares to his eight grandchildren.  I’m sad to think that the sum total of what my dad accumulated during his entire 104 years on this earth now rests in a single bank account.  A long life, reduced to eight bequests to his closest remaining family.

Dad, is that all you, or I, or anyone else, leaves behind?

Absolutely not!  Your essential bequest is so much more.

You left behind immeasurable, non-monetary gifts, including the gift of life to your two sons and eight grandchildren.  You left behind unforgettable memories of travel. Our 14-day driving trip from Los Angeles to Victoria, B.C. when I was sixteen was my favorite. You left a legacy of wisdom. Whenever I complained to you about the problems of my business you would say, “If there weren’t problems they wouldn’t need you.” Mostly you left the treasure of your love for all of your family, your many students, and countless friends. Last year almost 100 students, friends, and family members gathered for the celebration of your life.

In a few weeks I will be mailing out eight checks.  While they will be welcomed by your grandchildren, I’m sure that when the reckoning of your value and contribution is totaled up, all of us will appreciate most your flair, your being there for us, and the many years we enjoyed together.

Thank you.  Each of us should be as fortunate in the bequests we leave behind.

Alan

February 13, 2020

Dear David,

Today would have been your 77^th birthday.  I’m sorry you won’t be here to celebrate with us, but Daveen and I keep a box of the Bubble Bears we bought for your funeral, and we’re going to take them out and blow a few bubbles today in your honor.

I’m not sure that will do you any good, but it will help us to know that as long as we are alive those who love you will remember, each in their own way, your enthusiasm, warmth, and love of life.

Our lives today are different than they were in 2003, although in many ways they are the same.

All of us are seventeen years older, and there is a difference between being 15 and 32, or 63 and 80 as I will be in a few weeks. David, that’s enough time for your oldest niece to grow up – from age ten to becoming an MD in residency at an Ivy League hospital.

My days seem long when I think of all I fill them with, but short when I calculate how many have come and gone between your birthday today and your unexpected death — 6,067 days ago.

My days are the same in that we live in the same neighborhood, appreciate the same restaurants, and still enjoy a family Christmas celebration together each year.  So in some ways you’re only missing more of the same, perhaps with a little more daily exercise now, to keep our bodies moving.

We enjoyed dinner recently at a sushi restaurant with Dr. Fan, who recalled that you had an appointment with him two days after you died.  His office called your number but, of course, there was no answer.  At dinner Dr. Fan said, philosophically, “Some patients don’t like to see the doctor.”  He’s retired now, and has referred us to a young doctor who is excellent.

I know that your life-long quest was to avoid growing old, and you succeeded.  Frankly, being a “senior citizen” is not all bad.  I have a deep sense of acceptance, especially of myself, so my physical state is, well, it is what it is, which isn’t acceptable.  My mind is working fine, and my mood is generally excellent.

Dad died last May at the age of 104.

As you know, you and I learned to live very much in the moment.  I still do, so I seldom say I miss anyone.

I will say that I miss you.  I always will.

Love,

Alan

My friend Jimmy called recently to tell me he was upset.

“Alan,” he said, “I received a nasty email from someone in your office.”

I asked Jimmy to forward it to me.  After reading the email myself I thought if I had received it originally I would not have been bothered at all.

I recently read in the Ask Amy column (I assure you I don’t read that column every day) about a family feud.  The writer said she and her two siblings hadn’t spoken for years.

Why?

Because ten years before, her older brother arrived late for their family Thanksgiving dinner and the turkey had already been carved.   He felt disrespected, stormed out, and the three siblings avoided each other ever since.

I read a news article today that Millennials are known for being pragmatic.  I think that’s a good thing.

So, how are these ideas related?

How thin is your skin?  Do you take offense easily or often?  Have you ever severed a relationship over a relatively minor offense?  And, upon reflection, was it worth it?

Our bodies have skin to keep the bad stuff out.  But if our physical or emotional skin is too thin, the bad stuff will more likely harm us along with other things that are probably just not worth worrying about.  Emotionally, I believe in having a very thick skin.  That is pragmatic.

I used to believe that if someone had a serious look on their face they were angry.  Not only angry, but angry with me.  This used to bother me a lot, but over many years I developed an antidote.  I now simply ask, “Are you angry?”  If their answer is “no” I believe them.  If the answer is “yes” I follow up with, “Are you angry with me?”

Almost always they are either not angry, or not angry with me.

But back to that Thanksgiving dinner.  If a guest was angry because I had carved the turkey before they arrived, I would apologize and invite them to join us for the rest of the meal.  If they stormed out, I would be sad they had left, but I would also continue to enjoy the party.  Why should their unreasonable behavior spoil my evening? Sadly, in the Ask Amy example above, a single overreaction kept a family from enjoying each other’s companionship for years.

Most of my close friendships have endured for decades. One reason is that I intentionally have a thick emotional skin. I am not easily offended, and if I am slighted by something someone has said or done I try to determine if the offense was intentional. We have so many different ways of communicating these days with texting and emails as well as phone calls – there easily can be misunderstandings.

If someone has insulted me intentionally, I try to figure out why. If I did something offensive, then I apologize and try to make amends. But if they persist in insulting me, I ask them to contact me if they want to solve the problem.  Meanwhile, I pragmatically continue to enjoy my life, giving people the benefit of the doubt.

Don’t doubt the benefit.

Alan