Wisdom and Money
Sometimes, wisdom comes out of the mouths of babes.
No, not hot babes like Beyonce. I’m pretty sure I’m never going to achieve that in life.
Babes as in me, the baby of the family. The youngest of ten. The oft-ungrateful recipient of mountains of career advice, hand-me-down clothes, and babysitting requests.
Mom, do you realize money is just about perception?
Sometimes, after prayer and fasting in my inner room, I surface with some amazing realizations and babble at my parents.
They don’t listen to teasing or complaining or argument anymore — they’ve been blessed with thirty-eight years of marriage and ten children. Trust me, they don’t listen to us.
Sometimes they listen to my babbling though.
Mom looks up from the scrabble board in the corner of the dining room. It’s the third day of Christmas and she’s playing with my brother visiting from the state he calls God’s country, who’s also looking at me somewhat bemused.
Oh. I realize it’s like one pm and I haven’t showered or eaten or gotten dressed yet today.
Remember how I told you that my college friend was all rich, I complained about her living in a small mansion, how she spends $1000 on clothes every year because her mom just gives it to her, and she will drop $250 on nail products without a second thought?
But she was telling me the other day how she has to drive her parents’ vehicles. And she has to negotiate with them over gas money. And we’re the same age. And I just thought, thank God I don’t have to do that. I’m not a teenager.
I wondered if she was jealous I had a car, is that partly what the disagreement with my friend had been about? She had never been to my house, she didn’t realize. She didn’t realize I had been buying my own clothes since middle school, she didn’t know I had scrimped and saved for three years for my first car and been devastated when I totaled it three months later, she didn’t know that my parents never, ever handed me cash without specific instructions, she didn’t know, she didn’t know, she didn’t know, couldn’t know…
What would she see if she came to my home? What would she perceive?
There was my mom sitting at the custom-designed, Amish-built oak dining table Dad had somehow been able to buy her when shipping was cheaper.
When I was a kid, we used to sit at two folding tables pushed together. Nothing else worked with the awkwardly square dining room — the dining room that had been a big reason Mom and Dad wanted this specific house, so we could all fit in the same room and eat together.
Mom, you drive a luxury vehicle. You’ve remodeled the entire house room-by-room by necessity.
There was the mold, then the dry-rot, then the pipes leaked, then more water damage…Had to replace the wooden deck, had to put in a new driveway, next is the roof…Pouring money down the gullet of the property.
Really, once the kitchen is done, all you have to do is take down the dark 70s paneling downstairs. You have a four-bedroom home. A big house.
I’m sure it had been painfully difficult to find a way to buy the house at the time, but with eight kids and a dog, they must have been just bursting out of the old house in Portland.
When your daughters go to church, we wear our heels and our fanciest puffer coats and the designer handbags we used like three coupons to buy.
Would anyone at our parish that we’ve gone to for thirty years ever even know how painful a topic money is in the Wolf house?
Mom, remember when you told me that if I brought a man home, he would be intimidated by the boys? Because they are so successful. But the boys, they just work hard, pinch pennies, and trust in God.
I’m one hundred percent confident that my big brothers, ages 37, 33, and 30, look up to my dad and do everything he did — wait to have kids after marriage, work their butts off, aggressively pursue their careers, budget budget budget, and drag their families to Mass every week even when everyone is complaining and doesn’t want to go.
Is that what builds success?
People might not realize that we Wolfs all drive Toyotas not because we enjoy buying the most expensive second-hand cars, but because Dad insists — it will last forever, it’s reliable, don’t get something American-made that will break down… People might not realize that my parents drive a Lexus because my dad wanted a comfortable sedan that would last their entire retirement. And he’s wicked good at finding the best one-year-old cars to purchase, decreased in price because they’ve left the lot but still in fabulous condition.
Mom, remember that one time we were getting into the Lexus and I was teasing you about it and you sighed and said it is an embarrassment of riches. And how when Sister — — — visits, you said she always borrows the truck because she doesn’t want people to perceive a nun as rich, because of her vow of poverty.
What I’m getting at is I’m sick of the complaints, the snide remarks about how other people spend their money, the stress about retirement savings, the angst about fighting with aunts and uncles over my grandparents’ estate… I’m so sick, so sick of it all.
We don’t know. We can’t know. We don’t know the balance of others’ bank accounts. We don’t know how wealthy they are really. We don’t know if that BMW they drive actually has a huge car loan payment so it’s not really theirs. We certainly have no idea how much they give to charity. Hell, I have no idea how much my own parents tithe.
I’m not sure why I was so insecure about being the poor kid at school, Mom.
There had been constant negotiations with my dad over loans, tuition payments, and my contributions to prove that I was serious about getting my education. He wasn’t just going to hand me cash to get a liberal arts degree that he doubted I would be able to use for a job.
You know what I realized, Mom? I’m going to be just fine during this recession as I pay off my loans.
All I’ve been hearing from my friends lately is stress over graduating, finding jobs, paying off their loans, the insanely high rental prices in Oregon, negotiating tuition with their parents, trying to save up for a house so they can have kids…
All I’ve been hearing from my siblings lately is stress over jobs, paying their kids’ tuition, grocery prices, etc. etc. etc.
Huh.
It’s almost like, every family struggles to negotiate this in their own way. Every family sacrifices to provide excellent educations.
You know what I realized, Mom? I’m going to be just fine in this recession. Because you taught me the value of a dollar. One. Dollar.
One dollar is worth about 75% of a candy bar in Biden’s America.
Later, I hear Mom in the kitchen making dinner and telling David that she’s going to have a conversation with Dad about the inheritance, the kitchen, and keeping up with the Joneses’.
She always says that phrase with disgust, keeping up with the Joneses. Always, my entire life. That’s why I’m disgusted by it too.
Thanks be to God!
Ok, also, to be honest, I’m going to be just fine because I’ve finally come to rest in being the stereotypically unsuccessful English major, unemployed and living in my parents’ basement. Really, what else are they going to do with their fourth bedroom?
But really, I’m going to be just fine because I learned from my parents how to trust in God.
He, our good and gracious God, will provide the money, ease, and comfort.
