Some of my fondest childhood memories involved my favorite Uncle Herbert. He was responsible for teaching me to read even before I was in kindergarten, teaching me to draw, and making me want to do my best.
One year when I was about five or six, we were at a family friend’s house for Easter. They had hidden eggs all over the spacious back yard and I was among about a dozen kids there that day for the Easter egg hunt. I’m no slouch. In no time, I had retrieved nearly all the eggs. The other children didn’t have any — or maybe someone had one or two. But I had the vast majority of them. Not because I was particularly fast, I just got lucky where I looked.
It was at that time that my uncle called me over to him. I got up in his lap with my basket overloaded with eggs. He pointed out to me that I had nearly all the eggs and the other children didn’t have any. And wouldn’t it be nice if I put some of them back and let the other kids “find” them? No, no it wouldn’t. I found those eggs; it’s not my fault the other kids couldn’t find them. Ever the capitalist even at that age, I would not relent. My uncle didn’t make me put them back. He — and my mother — let it be my decision.
Would I do the same thing all over again if I knew then what I know now? You better believe it.