Editorial I’m riding in the minivan with my father somewhere along Seawall Road on Galveston Island when I decide to ask him, “What would you do if you had a million dollars?” I set up the rules for him: “You can’t spend it on other people or set up a trust or leave it as an inheritance. You have to use it for something you want.” “I don’t need things anymore really. I guess I’d make sure the grandkids are able to go to college,” he says. “Nope. You can’t. Remember? It’s got to be for you.” He’s stumped. We could be in Houston and at the airport before he thinks of an answer. After I assume he’s forgotten the question altogether, he says, “I think we’d sell our house and scale back. We’d buy a ranch house with one story so your mom wouldn’t have to walk up the stairs with her bad knees.” “Okay. Now you’ve made money. You’re not very good at this game,” I tease him; but I love the fact that at 73 years old he’s satisfied with where he is in his life. “I’ve got it,” he says. “I’d take one of those cruises around the world with your mom. That takes about 100 days and would cost about $200,000, I think,” he says. “You’ve still got at least $800,000 left,” I say. “What about a new car or something? Spoil yourself. What have you really wanted?” “I guess I’d buy a new Dodge Grand Caravan. I really like this one. I hear they’re putting swivel tables in the back of the new ones.” “I’ll make it easy for you, Dad. You can keep your minivan. What car would you get for fun?” “I guess a convertible. American-made, of course.” I think we’re getting somewhere, when he says, “At our age we have everything we need except more time. You kids can live long enough to enjoy those other things.” “You’re a real buzz-kill,” I say and squeeze his shoulder. “Love you, Dad.” Sobering though it is, time can’t be bought or sold. It is what it is, and age has nothing to do with it. Though I’m 41 I’ve no guarantee that my father doesn’t have 20 more good years left and perhaps I’ve only 10. My father doesn’t think that way. For better or worse, his generation learned to play it safe. Maybe it was 9/11 or Enron or the dot-com boom and bust. Or perhaps my generation saw that the generations before us didn’t seem altogether joyous with the outcome of the choices they made. They did things because they “had to,” and at times it made them quite grouchy. They learned from the Depression era. They saved for a rainy day. But the boomers, Gen X, and Gen Y seem to know that money in a 401k or in the form of a plasma television won’t equal happiness. Save it or spend it. Does it really matter? My attitude perpetuates the “life is short, play hard” mentality that has left my generation (and the ones after mine) with no retirement and a lot of pricey toys in the garage that tend to increase our medical bills. The bikes, climbing harnesses, backpacks, and four- wheel-drive vehicles implement our joy. They’re the tools that allow us to know what the human body can do, experience, share, and see. Social Security might not last to help us through our golden years, but we’ll have stacks of photos from our adventures when we were 30, 40, and 50 years old—memories on paper instead of dollar figures on the last bank statement. As we get closer to the Houston airport, my father is on a roll. He’s into the game now. “I’d like to go to New Zealand, Egypt, Japan, Chile, Brazil, and Argentina,” he says. “Travel while I’m still able.” “What about Africa?” “Too expensive.” “That’s why you should go, Dad,” I say. “Because you can’t put a price on seeing a cheetah running full speed across the Serengeti.” The one thing we agree on is that spending money now or later to see the world and create new adventures in our lives is priceless at any age. |
 |
|
|
|
 |
