Every time I read the New York Times ethics column, there seems to be a sticky situation about something or other, usually inheritances—or disinheritances, which are never a pleasant topic.
The ethical possibilities are endless. Someone got an inheritance and didn’t deserve it. Someone was denied an inheritance who deserved it. A father cut his daughter out of the will because she married a scoundrel. A daughter who cared for her parents got everything, while a son who did nothing got nada and filed a lawsuit. A generous son didn’t want his parents to know he was going to eventually share his inheritance with his brother, who was cut out of the will.
When it comes to wills, things get ugly fast, especially if they’re used for retribution.
I’ve always been fascinated by the Parable of the Prodigal Son. (I wonder what the Times ethicist would say about that story.) Over the years, I’ve encountered a few cases that were so similar to the parable it was uncanny: One guy asked for his inheritance, got it early and squandered it. As fate or fortune would have it, he got another inheritance and did the same thing. I also know people who deserved a generous inheritance but came away empty-handed from the lawyer’s office. When I said, “Give me my inheritance” to my father, he promptly responded, “What inheritance?” (It’s always wise to have low expectations.)
For some parents, a will is their last chance to get even with children who did them wrong or didn’t turn out the way Mom and Dad wanted. We’ve all heard the common threat, “I’m taking you out of the will!” In fact, I may have said it myself once or 200 times.
Then, there are the self-made parents who leave their kids nothing and give it all to the Sierra Club or the ACLU, just so their offspring don’t become slackers living off their parents’ money.
The father in Jesus’ parable had an entirely different approach and behaves so contrary to our standards of fairness. Jesus always seems to upset our sense of right and wrong by inserting mercy into the equation. The parable exemplifies God’s unconditional love for us. Even when we aren’t faithful, he will always forgive us and welcome us back.
However, to my thinking, the older brother in the parable presents a compelling case. What has always troubled me is his complaint to Dad: “Look, all these years I served you, and not once did I disobey your orders; yet you never gave me even a young goat to feast on with my friends.”
If the father was so generous, why didn’t he give his faithful son a goat? (This sounds like another quandary for the Times’ ethicist.) I don’t begrudge the prodigal son getting the fatted calf, the ring and the robe—not to mention all the money he spent on prostitutes and riotous living—but how about throwing the faithful son a bone?
Maybe the old man was so anxious about his lost son that he overlooked his loyal son. Or maybe he figured the son and his friends had been taking a goat now and then anyway. Or maybe the answer lies in his words of assurance: “My son, you are here with me always; everything I have is yours.” A father who could be so generous to a son who squandered everything would surely not take the loyal son for granted.
But life is seldom like that. Everyone has a horror story when it comes to an inheritance, and an unfair or vindictive will can cause the kind of resentment that tears apart a family forever.
I’ve seen it, and I’ve known siblings who’ve gone to the grave without talking, all because of a will.
No one seems to get what they believe they deserve, although some get more than they actually deserve—and just keep laying waste to the family fortune.
I better keep reading that parable for guidance because more than once I’ve said to my wife, “I’m leaving everything to the dog!” I’ll follow the example of the late hotel magnate Leona Helmsley, who died and left $12 million to her Maltese poodle Trouble. Not to mention an estimated $8 billion for the care and welfare of other canines, who are still barking her praises at dog shelters.
When I tell my wife that’s my plan, she usually sputters, “Don’t worry. There won’t be much left, not even for the dog.”
