Chapter Fourteen

EMOTIONS ATTACHED

Going out for dinner with friends, David and I didn’t always pick up the tab. Sometimes we paid, other times we didn’t, and often the cost got split down the middle. The bill wasn’t a problem with friends who shared our circumstances. Even with those who didn’t, the cost of dinner was rarely an issue. When it came to travelling with other families, however, we had to think ahead and plan carefully to avoid awkward moments. Mostly, we did what we could to stay within other people’s budgets. But when we wanted to go big or do something exotic, it was surprisingly difficult to give—and receive—financial gifts.

As we considered a trip to the Galapagos, we asked Tracy and Ethan, parents from UCDS, if they wanted to join us. Emily and Ali got along well with their kids and we liked the idea of having an adventure as two families. Tracy and Ethan liked the idea too. Soon, all of us were looking forward to spending time together, excited to learn about Darwin, and eager to see blue-footed boobies. But as Tracy and I talked about specifics and decided on a travel company, I realized that the trip was expensive.

“I hope we haven’t pushed Tracy and her family into an uncomfortably high-priced vacation,” I said to David.

Offering to pay for everything felt presumptuous and wasn’t what either David or I wanted. We didn’t know Tracy and Ethan well. Even offering to pay a portion of the cost felt awkward. Relationships were best when they were equal and balanced. I didn’t want to come across as patronizing or as making a statement about their financial situation. I didn’t want to ignore our situation either. I wanted to share with our friends. But would they be embarrassed if we offered to help? Maybe they’d feel resentful if we didn’t offer. It was hard to know. Any move we made, or didn’t make, had implications that would be difficult to clarify.

Hoping to help defray the cost of the vacation without being over-the-top, we decided to offer to buy the airline tickets for the flights from the mainland to the island. Getting the tickets seemed like an easy, concrete way to for us to acknowledge our good fortune and do something nice for our friends. So, with a plan in place, I picked up the phone. But before I could even finish explaining our wish to cover the cost of the tickets, Tracy cut me off, declining graciously but definitively. Unsure how to explain our intentions without sounding argumentative or defensive, I let the issue drop. Later, when Tracy discovered there were only two cabins available on the boat’s middle deck and called to ask if her family could take them, I saw another opportunity. Since we had already reserved upper deck cabins, I suggested we upgrade her family.

“That way, we could all be together on the same deck,” I said.

“That’s nice of you,” she said. “But we’ll take the middle deck. I’m just glad you got us to go on this trip. We’re looking forward to it.”

Had they already considered the top deck and decided against it? Maybe they felt it was odd to let us pay extra for them. Perhaps they preferred to keep finances outside of our relationship and time together. It could have been pride. It could have been embarrassment. It could have been something between Tracy and her husband or something about David and me. Perhaps it was nothing. Without asking directly, there was no way to know.

I wasn’t sure how often our financial circumstances skewed social interactions but I was upset when a friend told me she’d been afraid to ask our family to join hers at a Cirque du Soleil show. I’d been so happy she’d invited us.

“I knew you could sit in the best seats,” she said. “Since we couldn’t afford front row, I almost didn’t ask you. I thought about it a lot. I was worried you wouldn’t want to go if you had to sit in bad seats.”

I felt badly for having been unaware of my friend’s concern. My feelings were hurt too. Our friendship meant more to me than front row seats. Didn’t she know that? Didn’t she feel the same? I hadn’t realized our wealth played such an outsized role in her mind.

“It’s awkward to travel with rich friends,” my friend Leslie told me. “Last year, a couple we knew was excited about a trip they were taking to Morocco. They were staying in penthouse suites in the best hotels, taking exclusive tours, meeting influential people. They had all kinds of special drivers lined up to take them around. So, when they asked us to go with them, I panicked. We couldn’t afford to travel like that. I was debating what to say when my friend told me we could go as their guests, that everything was lined up. So, we stayed in the hotel down the street, but got to experience first-class travel.”

“Sounds great.”

“Well, yes and no,” Leslie said. “Now I have a problem. Those same friends want us to vacation with them in Tahiti. It would be presumptuous to expect them to pay a second time, but I’m too embarrassed to say we can’t afford the trip. I’ve been avoiding the subject, being noncommittal. I don’t think they’re aware that the cost is an issue for us,” Leslie said. “I’ve been stalling so long I’ve hurt their feelings. They think we don’t want to go with them.”

“Why don’t you explain?”

“I want to be an equal,” Leslie said. “I guess I’d rather have them think we don’t want to go with them than let them know we can’t afford to keep up.”

Later, Laurie told me she was upset by how her new wealth had impacted one of her oldest friendships.

“My best friend and I biked together for years, but she’s stopped racing with me. She said it was too expensive, that it was easy for me because I didn’t have to think about the cost,” Laurie said. “But most people who race don’t have a lot of money. It feels like she’s using our money as an excuse not to spend time with me.”

Sue said her friendships had become self-sorting. Over the years, she had grown closest to people who shared her circumstances.

“It’s nice to go out for dinner without having to worry about the cost, to know price isn’t an issue for anyone at the table,” she said.

Allison didn’t think her closest friendships had changed, but she noticed subtle comments.

“People say things about me driving a Range Rover or about how ‘tough’ it must be that I quit my job,” she said. “They say these things in a joking manner, but it can be hurtful.”

She was also surprised by the response on social media to her husband’s success.

“When he was starting his business, when he was the underdog, so many people were rooting for him. Once he’d sold the business and was doing well, friends stopped cheering him on. The number of people liking his posts went way down. I don’t think the drop in support was out of malice, but we noticed it.”

Loren had a similar experience with her closest friend.

“When I suddenly had money, the dynamic between us changed,” she said. “She’d always been the one with the nice clothes. Then, when I got a Louis Vuitton bag and started shopping at Barneys, she reminded me she’d had nice things first. It hurt my feelings. I wanted her to be excited for me. I think she was worried she’d lost control of me or that I didn’t need her in the same way. It took a year for us to work it out.”

When Julie’s husband proposed, she’d been stunned. Like me, she hadn’t been contemplating diamonds. Unlike me, she felt guilty her ring was so large.

“At first, I was just shocked,” she said. “Then I was embarrassed.”

Right after getting engaged, she and her husband visited her husband’s parents, where her husband’s brother, who had also just gotten engaged, joined them for dinner with his fiancée.

“Her ring didn’t look anything like mine,” Julie said. “I kept turning my ring around on my finger, trying to hide it, but I knew the subject would come up.”

Eventually, her husband’s family asked to see her ring.

“Wow!” they said. “It’s so big!”

“I felt bad. My sister-in-law didn’t say anything or seem upset, but I felt awful,” Julie said. “It’s taken years for me to stop feeling apologetic. Sometimes I still take my ring off and don’t wear it around certain friends or to certain events.”

Carla, my friend from PEPS, and I rediscovered tennis together. Neither of us had been on the court in years, but after hitting the ball around one morning, we were both excited to be back in the game. Soon, we were playing as often as possible, scheduling time at public indoor courts not far from where we lived—and I found myself dreaming of the Seattle Tennis Club.

Nestled along the shore of Lake Washington, the Seattle Tennis Club was known as the place to serve and volley. Since it was known for serving up plenty of snob appeal as well, I’d never considered joining. But hoping to meet other players, I looked into membership. When I did, the $10,000 initiation fee was not a surprise. Neither was the ten-year waiting list or the fact that a current member needed to sponsor my application. But I was appalled to learn our family had to be endorsed by ten members and that everyone at the club would ultimately vote on whether we could join. It was just as I’d always feared and imagined. Private clubs were for aloof people who wanted to keep away from the riffraff.

I called Donna. “It’s so pretentious,” I complained.

“You wouldn’t believe what a woman from our daughter’s school told me,” Donna said. “She’s a member, and when I asked about joining, she told me I’d need a sponsor.”

“Couldn’t she have been your sponsor?”

“Exactly,” Donna said. “I asked her. She said she didn’t know enough about our family and refused to recommend us!”

Hearing this, even though Ms. Old Money offered to sponsor our family and David and I knew many members who could endorse our application, I didn’t add our name to the list. With David speculating we could buy our way in without waiting ten years, I ran even faster in the opposite direction, somewhat relieved to reject the Seattle Tennis Club before it could reject me. The club may have been a sanctuary for its members with its perfectly maintained indoor and outdoor courts, kid-friendly sandy beach, and outdoor swimming pool, but I wanted to play tennis and to play with Carla.

Many years later, when we moved to San Francisco and I was again interested in playing tennis, I had no problem joining a private club. There was a great place just blocks from our house. While the price made the club exclusive, there was no waiting list or all-member vote. Mostly, more comfortable with wealth, I was grateful to have a nice facility so close to where we lived.

At the time, back in Seattle, Carla and I continued to hit. We signed up for lessons, joined a United States Tennis Association team, and began to talk about getaways—which had me dreaming again. I loved the idea of going somewhere sunny and warm for a week and spending time learning from a pro. But my ability to afford a high-end tennis camp didn’t do me much good. I didn’t want to go alone. I wanted to go with Carla—and was thrilled when she told me she’d discovered a reasonably priced clinic in Palm Springs that coincided with a major tournament in Indian Wells and suggested we go together.

The hotel near the clinic was the obvious place to stay, but Carla didn’t want to spend too much, and again, I was concerned that money would come between us—until I finally embraced the facts. I booked a large room at the nearby hotel, and told Carla she could be my guest. When I did, no chasm opened. There wasn’t even a crack. In fact, in acknowledging my ability to pay, I felt closer to Carla. She was thankful, too.

Several years later, as Carla and I talked about attending a tennis tournament in Barcelona, I told her I wanted to pay her airfare.

“It’s easy for me to do,” I wrote in an email.

“I’ve been trying to figure out why your offer makes me uncomfortable,” Carla wrote back. “I’m afraid that if you buy me the ticket, it will make our relationship out of balance and you’ll think less of me. I don’t want to be weak or a sponger—or feel like a child. Adults take care of children, and then resent it . . . and as soon as I step back from that statement, I see how fear-driven it is and how much it’s rooted in the past and not in current truths. As you said, it’s easy for you, and we can spend time together. It should be that simple.”

Luckily, for both of us, Carla set her worries aside and accepted the ticket, allowing us to spend seven wonderful days together watching Rafa Nadal win all his matches.

Navigating friendships and financial gifts was tricky. Having friends ask us directly for money was even harder.

One evening, after going out for drinks with a friend, David burst through the front door, apologizing for being late.

“I was having quite a conversation with Bob,” he said.

“What about?”

“I don’t know what to do,” he said.

David shook his head, prolonging the suspense, holding onto the secret and waiting for me to guess. But I had no idea. Finally, he told me Bob had asked him for a loan of $25,000.

Imagining Bob in his striped button-down shirts, creased khakis, and leather loafers, I was baffled. His family took overseas vacations and went skiing every year. They’d just purchased a new car and their kids attended private school. Our families had spent time and money together over fancy dinners and luxurious weekends. Bob’s need for a loan didn’t add up.

“They’re in debt,” he continued. “They’re spending more than they’re bringing in. The bank won’t lend them anything. Their personal finances and business expenses are all mixed up. It’s been going on for years.”

“Will $25,000 make a difference?” I asked. “Won’t it add to their problem?”

“They don’t see their situation as a problem. I feel bad about saying, ‘No.’ But I don’t feel good about loaning them money.”

David had recently given $10,000 to an acquaintance who was going through a rough time, and that gift had been complicated to give.

“There are no strings attached,” David had said. “I expect nothing in return.”

“It’s too generous,” his acquaintance had told him. “But I’ll give it some thought.”

A couple of days later, his acquaintance called David to say he’d been discussing the situation with his brother and couldn’t possibly accept the money. The day after that, he got another call.

“I’ll take you up on your offer,” his acquaintance said. “Thank you.”

But giving money to someone on the periphery of our life was far less fraught with emotion and complexity than giving a loan to a close friend. The situation with Bob was complicated by years of family dinners and weekend trips we hoped would continue.

“I’ll offer to help Bob come up with a plan for his business,” David said. “Then, when things are on track, I’ll give him the money he needs.”

Several months later, when I asked how Bob was doing, David said the subject of money had disappeared.

“He’s not willing or able to look at his business. I don’t think he wants to make any changes.”

“Can you help him figure it out?”

“I could, but it’s his business, not mine.”

“But he made it your business when he asked for $25,000,” I said. “Do you think Bob was using your friendship?”

“No. He didn’t want to ask. And I don’t mind that he did,” David said.

David’s friendship with Bob endured without any perceivable repercussions. There was no change in the relationship our families shared either. But without discussing the subject, it was hard to know for sure what feelings existed beneath the surface. I couldn’t deny being more aware of the money Bob and his wife spent. And when Bob asked us for money again several years later, we gave him the cash outright, telling him to view the money as a gift he could keep.

Not long after Bob asked for money the first time, another family whose children were in school with Emily and Ali sent an email to a small group of relatively affluent families, telling us they were hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt, needed help, and would likely never be able to repay the money. This information was a complete surprise. With three children in private school, a big home, and hired help, the couple appeared to be doing well. For a few days, everyone on the email tried to make sense of the situation, sharing confusion and concern, unsure what to do. Then, silence prevailed. Although the request was strange and impersonal, David and I decided to send a $10,000 check. How could we not do something? I’d spent time on the tennis court with the woman and David had gotten to know her husband through evening gatherings. Their children were in school with ours. We were in a position to help.

Weeks after we’d sent the gift, when I received a two-sentence thank you note—no call, no gushing, no further reaching out, I became painfully aware of the strings I’d attached to our gift. I wanted more appreciation. Unconsciously hoping for more closeness, I was hurt to be treated like a bank, rather than a person, let alone a friend.

Later, Janet shared her way of dealing with the emotional stress of being asked for money.

“My therapist, of all people, asked me for a loan,” she told me. “She promised to pay me back, but never did. Now, I think about the money I gave her as the fund I loan people. Although no one else has asked for that money, if anyone does, I’ll tell them to find my ex-therapist. She still has the money I’m willing to give away as a loan.”

When my brother was buying a house, and David and I offered to add $20,000 to his down payment, he refused our gift—which I tried not to take personally.

“I want to live within my own means,” he told me.

Although he didn’t accept money as a single man, when we wrote my brother a $20,000 check as a wedding present, he and his wife accepted with thanks. And when he and his wife had their first child and we sent $20,000, he again thanked us. We then started to send money every year. But after a while, my brother stopped acknowledging our gifts, and my feelings were hurt once again. Although I knew I should speak up, it made me uncomfortable to broach the topic. I didn’t want to make a big deal of his silence or create conflict. We were living in different countries and didn’t talk often. It was also easy for me to imagine how he felt. Maybe he was self-conscious about accepting money he hadn’t earned, or perhaps he considered money easy for me to give and therefore not worth mentioning. But over time, hearing nothing but silence, I began to feel taken for granted. Although not completely conscious of the decision or proud of the fact, one year, I didn’t send $20,000.

That next January, as my brother and I were conversing over email, he ended his note with, “Hoping a certain year-end gift is just slow in the mail—is it?” Seeing these words, I froze, shocked and angry then embarrassed and ashamed. I should have spoken up years earlier, given him a chance to explain, and let him know how I felt. Even though the idea of talking to him about money made me nervous, I knew it had to happen.

Getting clear about my feelings and thinking through how to express them, I realized how much my brother meant to me. I wanted him to know I cared about him and his family. It didn’t matter what he did with the cash, but hearing only silence, I felt as though our money was simply disappearing, unappreciated, into a void. My brother’s silence also made our choice to send money feel like an obligation. Did he view money as being nothing to us? Did he believe our gifts were foregone conclusions? I wanted him to know there were emotions attached, that I was making a decision to send money, and that he was important to me.

Once we were on the phone, when I told him I was upset he hadn’t thanked me, he apologized immediately. He hadn’t known my feelings were hurt and explained he had consciously tried to keep things low-key, that he purposely hadn’t said much about the money because he thought I didn’t want him to make a big deal of it.

“I thought it was more comfortable for you if I didn’t say anything,” he told me.

I’d had no idea. Had I given him that impression? His thinking seemed to be a relic from our childhood, making me realize again that I loved him. He then told me he didn’t need the money, but that it had always been very much appreciated. The next day, I sent him $20,000.

Navigating the imbalance of wealth with immediate and extended family was a source of confusion, upset, and joy for all the people I interviewed.

Sue had purchased two separate houses for her divorced parents and was charging them each a small amount in rent so things wouldn’t, in her words, “get weird.”

“It happened organically,” she said. “When the place across the street from us went on the market, it made sense for my mom. After that, we decided to get a place for my dad too. I think they are both more comfortable paying a little every month.”

Laurie’s husband had started his business with his brother, but over time, his brother’s personal problems had begun to affect his work.

“He wasn’t doing well in the business,” Laurie said. “My husband tried boosting him up, giving him opportunities to succeed, but he was on a downward spiral. We sent him to top rehab facilities for his addictions, but it didn’t work. It’s been hard on my husband and his parents. I feel awful for my sister-in-law. The situation probably would have been the same even if we didn’t have so much money, but our wealth makes things even more intense. There’s so much blame, resentment, and guilt.”

She felt judged by her siblings too.

“Maybe it’s my issue, but I get stressed about birthday gifts,” she said. “My sisters seem to expect something big. I never know what to do. Their expectations make me feel as though a nice new shirt isn’t good enough.”

“My husband has six siblings,” Denise said. “For several years, we gave each one of them a financial gift. But my husband and I decided to stop sending them money. One of his brothers squandered everything we gave him. The others didn’t need our help.”

“We set up an education fund for our twelve nieces and nephews,” Betsy said. “I think it’s easier to give and receive money when it’s attached to a value. We’re giving education. Everyone has welcomed the gift.”

Betsy also talked about organizing a family vacation where she flew thirty members of her extended family to Montana and paid for the resort. While everyone seemed happy to be part of the festivities, she was uncomfortable with her mother’s reaction.

“She was too deferential, too polite and overly thankful. It made me uneasy,” Betsy said. “Money is power. But I ended up getting angry at her. We’d made sacrifices to accommodate the dates, and then my mom ended up leaving a day early. She just took off.”

In general, Betsy was happy to use her resources to help family members, but she could get frustrated too.

“My sister complains about not having enough money,” Betsy said. “Then, she tells me about all the trips she’s taking with friends. All I can do is listen, but I’m thinking, ‘Can you afford that?’ or ‘Another special weekend?’”

Betsy was even more upset by her aunt’s situation.

“My aunt makes one bad decision after another,” Betsy said. “She has three big dogs but can barely feed herself. She’s now on the verge of homelessness. I wonder where my responsibility lies in all of it. Her three daughters aren’t doing anything. Since I have resources, is it my duty to help? I’ve given and lent her money many, many times, but now my mom is telling me I shouldn’t give her anything more.”

Karen’s brother, who had problems with drugs, often asked her for money.

“He’d call when his electricity was about to get turned off,” Karen said. “I’d tell him I’d give him money under certain conditions, and he complained about having strings attached. But there had to be some quid pro quo. He was an adult. I didn’t want him buying drugs or alcohol with money from me.”

Karen also gave money to her brother’s ex-wife.

“I’d been thinking of it as money to help with basic expenses,” she said. “It was hard to hear her tell me she was taking a vacation to Africa. I wasn’t going on a vacation in Africa. Was that what she was doing with the money I’d given her?”

Another woman with four siblings, each with families of their own, told me she was upset by the family dynamics around vacations. Three of her siblings were happy to accept invitations from her and her husband to gather on Cape Cod, but one of her brothers and his wife refused to join them.

“I think it’s my sister-in-law,” she said. “She told me she didn’t feel comfortable in that setting, like it was too high-end and therefore unpleasant. My brother hasn’t been very nice about it either. He just says he’s not coming. Maybe he’s resentful. I’m not sure what to do. It means our whole family never gets together.”

“One of my sisters struggles with our lifestyle,” Nicole said. “She makes snarky comments, wondering why exactly I’m working or saying things like, ‘You’re redoing your kitchen, again?’ I’ve learned not to talk about our travel or remodels with her. We talk about world issues instead.”

Janet and her siblings had all inherited wealth, but each had different priorities.

“My sister buys a lot of clothes and purses, which I can’t imagine being able to afford,” Janet said. “But after comparing my sister’s spending to my own, I realize I blow a lot of money on airplane tickets and hotels. I never go business class, but I do travel a lot.”

David and I gave $10,000 to one of his aunts who was going through a hard time, $50,000 to his godfather as a no-interest loan, $20,000 to his brother for a down payment on a house, and $20,000 to his mother for a special vacation, putting two pieces of red yarn in the envelope with the check to prove there were no strings attached. But we didn’t have a long-term plan for giving to our parents—until David’s mother told him she was anxious about her finances.

“She’s worried about running out of money,” he said. “I’ve looked at her accounts. She’s doing fine. But I want to do something. I don’t want her to worry.”

We’d taken his mother on trips, sent airline tickets, and thrown her a party for a big birthday, but David felt uncomfortable giving her cash.

“It’s strange,” he said. “It’s a weird, unnatural role reversal. I’m not sure how much would keep her from worrying. One hundred thousand dollars?”

“Not more?”

A friend had once told me she preferred the “one-time drop,” that she didn’t like the idea of yearly gifts or transactions because they could start to feel like entitlements or obligations. It sounded easiest to give David’s mom one large sum. But it was hard to know the right amount. There were no guidelines around how much to give your parents and we couldn’t peek over the fence at our friends and use their gifts as benchmarks. We knew Donna and Matt and Lynn and Adam took their parents and extended family on vacations, but we didn’t know more. Although the six of us had been friends for years and were in similarly fortunate financial situations, there was an unspoken understanding between us that talk of money was off limits. Discussing specifics just wasn’t done.

“We could give my mom a million dollars,” David said. “But it would make her happier if I called her every day.”

In the end, we decided to give her $20,000. We then began sending that same amount every year and continued doing so for over a decade. But when she wanted to make a move, and we bought her a condominium in Florida, we stopped the yearly gifts—and we all felt better about a “one-time drop.”

Thinking about giving money to my parents, I was still stuck in the past. For years, we’d all abided by old rules, never speaking of finances. My parents never questioned our spending or acknowledged our growing wealth. After years of watching my father whisk bills from restaurant tables as my mother looked away and Michael and I were supposed to do the same, bringing up the subject of money felt like I’d be pushing my dad’s hand aside, grabbing for the check, and paying with hundred-dollar bills. Disrupting the status quo felt rebellious and disrespectful. A conversation about money would also confirm my role in our family had changed. But with a plan in place for giving to David’s mom, I wanted to do the same for my parents. So, I summoned my courage and asked my father out for coffee.

After ordering lattes, sitting down at a table, and chatting about the weather, I told my dad that we wanted to start giving him and my mom $20,000 a year.

“It will be something you can count on and use any way you want,” I said.

There was silence. But he didn’t frown. He didn’t stand up in a huff, spill his drink, or keel over in shock. He smiled.

“That’s very nice, honey. Thank you,” he said. “This is good coffee.”

We sat in silence, watching people at the counter.

“For our next vacation, maybe your mother and I will go business class,” he said.

Since my father had always been the financial manager in our family, I never considered talking to my mother first. But after successfully sharing a coffee and telling my dad about the money we wanted to give him, I had my first conversation about finances with my mom.

“Thank you, darling,” she said. “Your father is so pleased.”

“You’re welcome. I know Dad worries.”

“We never expected you to give us anything. You and David are being very generous.”

“I was nervous about giving you money,” I admitted.

“Well, it’s a wonderful gift,” she reassured me. “Your father is already having fun spending it in his head.”

“I’m glad. I wasn’t sure how you felt about me having so much.”

“You’re doing so well with it,” my mother said. “I’m proud.”

Despite myself, in her approval, I heard judgment.

“You are spending so wisely. You don’t live in a McMansion. I remember Mother’s wealthy friends. My parents never liked the way they spent their money. They lived in big, showy homes, led flashy lives, drank too much . . .”

“They had such an influence. You were so nervous around those friends.”

My mother was silent.

“In my mother’s generation, real ladies weren’t supposed to talk about, or even think about, money,” she said. “When I was growing up, women didn’t work unless they had to. Mother was lucky. She didn’t need a job. She could leave finances up to my father. I guess I’m a bit old-fashioned. I leave the finances up to your father. If I need anything, I ask him. He wouldn’t have it any other way. Neither would I.”

“Growing up, I thought money was dirty, that I wasn’t supposed to talk about it.”

“You’ve always been so interested in money,” she said.

Trying not to hear criticism again, I stayed quiet.

“It’s taken years for me to feel at ease with our wealth,” I finally said. “You and Dad taught me good habits around managing finances and not spending too much. Even now, I identify with being frugal and managing my money well. But it’s taken years to feel okay about being rich.”

“Well, you are doing a good job,” she said again. “And it’s nice of you to share. We certainly didn’t expect it.”

“We’re happy to do it,” I said. And I meant it.

“It’s in your father’s genes to worry,” she continued. “Your father and I make a good pair. Even if we had more money, your father would worry, and I’d have trouble buying things.”

“I completely understand,” I said. And I meant that too.

Contemplation & Conversation

•Does money play a role in your friendships?

•What experiences have you had giving money to or receiving money from family members?

•Have you run into money issues with your siblings? How do your siblings feel about your financial standing?

•How has money impacted your relationship with your parents? Have you talked with them about money? Have you ever given them money?

•Do you judge people based on their financial decisions? Do you feel judged by others?