With the debate over a cut in estate taxes for the wealthy in the news, I’ve gotten to thinking about inheritance.
Is inheritance, as it applies to money or real property, an obsolete notion?
For me it’s an irrelevant notion, as I think it is for most Americans.
My dad is still living, but I don’t expect anything from him as far as money or property. I inherited from him some ailments like migraines and arthritis, a quick temper, and a tendency for my weight to fluctuate upward, all of which I usually wish I hadn’t inherited at all. But in a way these help me understand him better—his determination, his pain, his struggles. He’s worked hard all his life, supported us, loved us, given us some terrific times together, vacations driving around the western US, and a lot of precious memories. He’s taught me to stand on my own two feet, to never let anyone make me feel they’re better or more important than I am, to treat everyone of every economic background the same. I consider him a true American in every sense, someone who understands freedom, honesty, and independence. He’s also an inveterate storyteller, and perhaps that’s where I get my love of story that leads me to want to write fiction.
I inherited a few handworked quilts from my mom, a painting, her love of color and artwork, a hunger to learn watercolor, an interest in history and geography, a desire to paint with words. She taught me to sew, and she was the one who encouraged me to take the path I did with my career, which enabled me eventually to take early retirement to pursue my writing. Even her death sent me in this direction, seeking that early retirement with more determination, out of a knowledge that life is too short to spend it all in a livelihood that didn’t agree with my personal philosophy. She taught me empathy, humility, and selflessness.
I inherited my maternal grandmother’s knitting needles, and her love of handmade lace, of working with fibers to make one thing into another, a kind of alchemy with thread. She taught me to crochet and to tat, and gave me the book I used to teach myself to knit. I learned from her a love of trees, plants, animals, and cooking. She taught me endurance.
As a kid I attended family reunions on the ranch where my grandmother grew up. Knowing that place provided me knowledge of nature and history, as well as an international and intercultural background. (It’s near the border, surrounded by Native American artifacts as well as Mexican influences.) It even gave me my taste for western culture—the kind that involves cowboy hats. Just a hint, mind you. By that time the land had been parceled off, with only a newish house still standing, the old one nothing but a burned-out vacant plot with its fireplace still in evidence. There were stories, though, and a chid’s imagination.
My family heirloom is a sense of place and self. There’s a lot to be said for this kind of legacy. But money and property? I’m not so sure.
When I think about the people I’ve known who expected to inherit a lot of money, what stands out is how that expectation affected how they lived their lives, seeming to make them think tomorrow was more important than today. Living as if there is something to come that will change everything for the better can be a kind of no-life, in a way. You live dreaming a dream instead of living. You think “tomorrow, tomorrow,” instead of being present today. You think of today as of less value and can fritter your youth away. Perhaps we’re better off thinking that what property and money we have today is all we will ever have. Maybe we’re better off learning to accept, to find our sense of self, our sense of place, and do our best within this framework, take each moment, each day as it comes, and make it matter.
I find that I’ve inherited a rich legacy that has nothing at all to do with money or property, but has a lot to do with how happy I am, how I live my life, how I look forward to the future. I think a promise of money might’ve spoiled that, acted as a sort of fool’s gold that would’ve displaced the real gold.
