Understanding

Age has taught me to consider motives far more assiduously than I did in my youth. While motives are most often motivated by self-interest, I now realize that they should be examined based on an understanding of others’ needs and wellbeing.

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When my children have difficulty making decisions, they sometimes come to me for advice, not so much because they think I’m a wise old man, but because they want an accomplice if their decision leads to disappointment or failure. I always give the same answer: “Consider your motive; if the motive is bad, the outcome will be bad.” Predictably, they’ve gotten sick of that advice, and have begun to counter it with a legitimate answer. “Dad, what you consider bad may not be bad for us. After all, you still think like folks did in the Nineteenth Century; we are Twenty-First Century … enlightened, modern, understanding.” Well, I tell them, I’m working on it. I may actually advance to the Twentieth Century before I croak. A few months ago, my youngest daughter said her company was offering a higher-paying job in a metropolitan area, and she wanted to know if I thought she should accept it. I gave an instant, un-thought-out answer: No! I explained that the higher cost of living would offset the anticipated gain in income and that the city has one of this nation’s highest crime rates. She took the job anyway, and I know she’s doing better financially because she’s stopped bugging me for loans. But, more importantly, she’s happy. I now ask myself: Whose motive was bad — hers or mine? Mine, obviously. Whereas her motive took courage, mine was based on self-interest. I wanted her to continue living close to me. So, maybe “bad” is the wrong word to use when defining motives. Love is the right word, and love often means understanding … the ability to see situations in an even-handed, open-minded way, devoid of bias and self-interest. A story I read not long ago confirms this. Having seen a “puppies for sale” sign in a farmer’s front yard, a little boy knocked on the door. Suspecting the kid had little money, the old man explained that the puppies were purebred and quite expensive. “Can I at least see them?” The boy asked. The man led him out to the kennel. When the mother came forward with her litter following, the boy noticed that the last one, a skinny runt, walked with a limp. “I want that one,” the boy said, and offered all the money he had — one dollar. “You don’t want that dog, son. He’s lame and won’t be able to run and play with you.” Pulling up his trousers, exposing a shoe fitted with braces supporting his leg, the boy said, “That puppy and I have something in common.” Turning away so as not to show his tears, the farmer said, “He’s yours — no charge. Each of you will give the other what so many people need more of: understanding.