YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!
So there I was at the Mini-Mart, pumping some gas and minding my own business when the tall man with the girth of Santa Claus and the grin of a boy at dawn on Christmas morning passed my car on his way into the store. “Powerball, man,” he said to me. “Last chance. Take a shot. Grab yourself a billion dollars."
So there I was at the Mini-Mart, pumping some gas and minding my own business when the tall man with the girth of Santa Claus and the grin of a boy at dawn on Christmas morning passed my car on his way into the store. “Powerball, man,” he said to me. “Last chance. Take a shot. Grab yourself a billion dollars."
A billion dollars.
I can’t get a handle on a billion dollars. My mind can put itself around a million dollars, which is probably about what I’ve made over my lifetime so far. If some generous soul gave me a million dollars, I could divide that up between myself and my children, and feel the boat rise beneath my feet.
But a billion dollars, give or take a few million? All I see is trouble.
If I won a billion dollars, I would handle it at first with aplomb, simply because my mind can’t conceive of a billion dollars. Our government is trillions of dollars in debt, a number that not only staggers my imagination but puts it on the canvas like a left hook to the kidney followed by a solid right to the jaw. A million dollars would bring pleasantries; a billion dollars would bring lawyers, accountants, headaches, days and weeks and months of meetings and wasted time, ruined children and grandchildren, and ruined me.
Let me explain.
Suppose I bought a lottery ticket. Suppose by some hiccup of the universe the numbers on my ticket matched the winning numbers. Suppose after taking away all the taxes I ended up with seven or eight hundred million dollars. What next?
My first inclination would be to give a hundred million dollars to each of my four children and their spouses. But what might that money do? They might use that wealth responsibly. They might invest their money, donate to charity, use their newly gotten dollars to enhance the world.
Yet would there not be temptations? And what of the grandchildren raised in such affluence? Would they not become wimps who never had to mow the lawn, wash the car, or break their back over a summer job? Would they not be spoiled by wealth?
And what of me? I am a teacher and a writer. Money wouldn’t make me better at either profession, and would definitely make me worse. After winning millions and millions of dollars, a man who went on teaching teens, in his own misbegotten way, would be regarded as a fool by the world, even though teaching may be one of the few noble things he has done in his life. Ditto on the writing.
Of course, I could give the bulk of it to charity or some good causes, but once again even that act would cause a year or so of headaches and lost time. No—I’ll have to leave such generosity to the real winner.
Besides, like most human beings, I already own my complement of vices. To add gambling to that list would be one more turn for the worse for me. I have gambled on a few rare occasions, supposedly for sport and pleasure though truth to tell I found little of either in the deed.
Please don’t regard me as a killjoy. To the winner of this Powerball lottery: I applaud you. I hope you have a wonderful time with your mountains of money. Really, I hope you have a blast, that you revel in your good fortune, and that you spend the money as you wish. I just know that for me it would be a tremendous headache, a consumer of the days left to me, a mistress whose courtship would eat up my life.
Besides, I have already won at the lottery. I have four wonderful children and a growing platoon of grandchildren. And after years of bumbling around, of wandering strange paths, and of slogging through difficult times, I have found what I am supposed to do on this planet. For better or worse, for richer or poorer, I intend to keep doing what I am intended for.
A billion dollars sounds incredible.
But that’s not why I’m here.
I can’t get a handle on a billion dollars. My mind can put itself around a million dollars, which is probably about what I’ve made over my lifetime so far. If some generous soul gave me a million dollars, I could divide that up between myself and my children, and feel the boat rise beneath my feet.
But a billion dollars, give or take a few million? All I see is trouble.
If I won a billion dollars, I would handle it at first with aplomb, simply because my mind can’t conceive of a billion dollars. Our government is trillions of dollars in debt, a number that not only staggers my imagination but puts it on the canvas like a left hook to the kidney followed by a solid right to the jaw. A million dollars would bring pleasantries; a billion dollars would bring lawyers, accountants, headaches, days and weeks and months of meetings and wasted time, ruined children and grandchildren, and ruined me.
Let me explain.
Suppose I bought a lottery ticket. Suppose by some hiccup of the universe the numbers on my ticket matched the winning numbers. Suppose after taking away all the taxes I ended up with seven or eight hundred million dollars. What next?
My first inclination would be to give a hundred million dollars to each of my four children and their spouses. But what might that money do? They might use that wealth responsibly. They might invest their money, donate to charity, use their newly gotten dollars to enhance the world.
Yet would there not be temptations? And what of the grandchildren raised in such affluence? Would they not become wimps who never had to mow the lawn, wash the car, or break their back over a summer job? Would they not be spoiled by wealth?
And what of me? I am a teacher and a writer. Money wouldn’t make me better at either profession, and would definitely make me worse. After winning millions and millions of dollars, a man who went on teaching teens, in his own misbegotten way, would be regarded as a fool by the world, even though teaching may be one of the few noble things he has done in his life. Ditto on the writing.
Of course, I could give the bulk of it to charity or some good causes, but once again even that act would cause a year or so of headaches and lost time. No—I’ll have to leave such generosity to the real winner.
Besides, like most human beings, I already own my complement of vices. To add gambling to that list would be one more turn for the worse for me. I have gambled on a few rare occasions, supposedly for sport and pleasure though truth to tell I found little of either in the deed.
Please don’t regard me as a killjoy. To the winner of this Powerball lottery: I applaud you. I hope you have a wonderful time with your mountains of money. Really, I hope you have a blast, that you revel in your good fortune, and that you spend the money as you wish. I just know that for me it would be a tremendous headache, a consumer of the days left to me, a mistress whose courtship would eat up my life.
Besides, I have already won at the lottery. I have four wonderful children and a growing platoon of grandchildren. And after years of bumbling around, of wandering strange paths, and of slogging through difficult times, I have found what I am supposed to do on this planet. For better or worse, for richer or poorer, I intend to keep doing what I am intended for.
A billion dollars sounds incredible.
But that’s not why I’m here.
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