Today is Father’s Day in many countries, including the United States. While sorting some old letters and photos recently, I stumbled across a letter my dad wrote to me during my sophomore year of college. This is my father’s financial advice to me when I was nineteen years old. I haven’t attempted to edit — any misspellings are his.
Warning — Make sure you read them all. There may be some surprises in them so read them all or you will miss them.
#1 Your scholarship is irreplacable. There is no way that you or I can make up $9500.00 a year difference. Study comes first. Before you panic, read on. I hear you talk about working and unless I missed something somewhere you are talking 32 hours a week at least or was that 24 hours a month on campus?
#2 You were successful at saving a little over $1000.00 this summer. That’s an achievement for you. We will try to do better next summer won’t we.
#3 Nutrition is important. Don’t slight it. It is your body that supports your mind. If you slight your body you slight your mind so eat your green beans.
#4 Wear clean underwear.
#5 You used to play lots of video games. One of them had a rocket and you had an energy level you had to worry about. Energy was used to travel and to shoot at the enemy. Life is a big videogame. In our society money is the energy. There are certain things you have to or should do so make sure don’t shoot so many asteroids just for the fun of it that you deplete your energy level and someone has to flash on your screen —GAME OVER—.
#6 Girls can be handy. They are nice to talk to and smooch and some times they take pity on poor helpless males and cook them a meal + iron for them.
#7 I have two ounces of yellow metal left among other things. A good inducement to get your father thinking the right direction would be for you to make a budget and keep track of how well you stick to it.
#8 While we are on the subject let me throw out some ideas that would point to reasons for subconscious compulsive spending.
a. When you were little mom was busy in the business and would buy you a new toy almost everyday. It was a way of saying “I feel so guilty — here, this toy is my love for you.”
Your dad played the same game only it was in large a grand ways — tropical fish instead of gold fish etc.
The result would be a compulsion to spend when lonely. The cure is to “look at them and sigh and know they love you.” You are a big boy now and it is time to say goodby to that part of parenting you never had. Please don’t wait till you’re 40 to do so. I can think of a zillion mistakes we made but I will guartee [sic] you that we did the best we knew how. The answer is for you to identify and acknowledge the mistakes for what they are. Then you will be able to see the love that was there too and compulsion will leave.
b. Don’t forget the Saint Helens tee shirts. I can bet you tap into those feelings a dozen times a day as you walk around campus and compare your situation with that of some of the others. Spending and collecting is a way of trying to prove that you have it too.
Cure
If this is the case the cure is to focus on the objective — getting through school — and realizing that the “it” that they have is privelege that come with wealthy parents. No matter what you spend you
will not create wealthy parents. Focus on the “it” that you have that no amount of money can buy. Looks, brains, nice to be around, kindness, talent to name a few. Just remember, “you never saw a fish wishing he were a frog.”
#9 Your parents love you! We talk about you everyday. it wouldn’t hurt to call sometimes and invite them down for a minute or two. They might come with bags of groceries in each arm.
#10 I know the time will come when you may go on an adventure such as a move out of state or a trip to Australia or whatever else crosses that mind of yours. We will probably throw out all kinds of cautions. That’s just what parents do but follow your dreams anyhow. Please don’t ever move off without letting us know where you are and dropping a note once in a while just to say your OK. Parents have spent 18 years listening to your every breath and loosing sleep if you missed a breath and they just can’t get out of that habit easily. You can do most anything you want and you will have our approval as long as we know you are OK.
#11 We need to get the title transfered on the car + some repairs made soon. The new guy I hired is also a mechanic so plan a Saturday out here real soon.
#12 If you maintain your apartment address over the summer it may be worth $3500 in grants next fall. You can come stay with us but you need to prove you are living on your own to be considered on your own income.
Although my relationship with Dad was strained at the end of his life, I admired him a great deal. He had his faults — including poor money skills — but he was a dreamer, and he loved his family. He died ten days shy of his 50th birthday, in July of 1995. If you’d prefer, you can read the entirety of my father’s letter in PDF format.
This article is about Basics, Real-Life, Relationships Sunday, 15th June 2008 (by J.D. Roth)


RSS Feeds
Facebook
GRS Twitter











June 15th, 2008 at 6:17 am
Wow, thanks for sharing this. I liked the “listening to your every breath” comment. Your dad had a neat writing style.
June 15th, 2008 at 6:56 am
Beautiful. It’s stuff like this that puts you on a different level from other bloggers.
June 15th, 2008 at 6:58 am
Thanks for sharing this with readers. I received a similar letter from my grandfather when I turned 20, and it is something that I cherish and refer back to even to this day.
June 15th, 2008 at 7:18 am
I felt a lot of mixed emotions when I read your father’s letter. I can see why your relationship with him became strained. The overall tone is condescending and repeats the conflicting messages of “father knows best” and the equally strong opposite message of “father did the best he could, so do what I say and not what I did.”
I admire your courage to share this letter and the fact that your relationship with him was maybe far from perfect.
Strangely enough, it makes me feel better that my dad never really gave me much money advice. Now I know, after reading your father’s letter (and knowing my own father), that, even if my dad had tried to teach me about money, due to his own ridiculous spending habits (he didn’t try to keep up with the Joneses, he tried to BE the Joneses!), I’d have ended up exactly where I did anyway — just like him: big income with an even bigger debt. Or, as they say in Texas, “Big hat, no cattle.”
My relationship with my dad was also very strained. And, he also died relatively young (age 57). It was hard to forgive him for the longest time because he never really believed he did anything wrong. Then, I learned that forgiveness is for the person doing the forgiving. It helps us move on with our lives and takes the edge of those old pains.
Please forgive me if I’ve read too much into your father’s letter. But, it has helped me heal a little more of my own past with my own manipulative father. A heartfelt thanks for your courage in sharing it!
June 15th, 2008 at 7:22 am
thank you very much for sharing something so personal. you have a wonderful website, which i now read almost daily, and i greatly appreciate your positivity as well as your openness. this letter from your father is a sublime example.
June 15th, 2008 at 7:47 am
Wow! This was absolutely the most heartwarming blog I’ve ever read. What love your dad had for you. The part about we’ll try to stop you from following your dream but just do it anyhow shows he had the inner conflict most parents have when they try to stop being “the parent”. It looks like he was facing that transition when he wrote the letter.
I would give anything, really, to have a letter like that from my dad. My dad is no longer with us, was completely self-absorbed when he was here and the statement “Your parents love you!” is not something I would have ever heard from him. That hurts still, even though I am no longer young, but I still loved and admired part of him. Our relationship was more than strained at the end and simply did not exist. That was his choice. He died fairly young too and had completely put me out of his life about a year and a half before he died. Mostly because he never wanted to stop being the parent and I wanted so much to be an adult and lose the strings. He could not handle that I wanted to make my own decisions in life and gave only orders, never advice. That’s what makes your dads letter special. It seems it may have been the only way he knew to at least try and cut the strings; even if he wasn’t fully successful.
I’m glad I stumbled across your blog a while back. I never know what to expect and your blog has given me so many things I can really use. Today you just made my fathers day special. I thank you for that.
June 15th, 2008 at 8:25 am
Thank you for sharing this very personal letter, J.D. I could hear my husband’s words and my own in this letter to our 20-year old son–simply a parent trying to share some wisdom and put his chld on the right path. Most students/children have no interest in these details and parents just try to keep them focused in the hopes of saving dollars and heartache. #9 was so, so true. All parents understand that one. J.D., I am so sorry that you lost your dad so young. Sometimes “kids” and parents reconnect later on. There is an old saying that chronicles when parents are “dumb” and when they are “smart,” and usually the children reconnect with parents later on and “see” the value of their experiences and their wisdom. I hope you won’t mind me saying that I am sorry you didn’t get that opportunity because your father died so young. My son and his dad’s relationship is strained right now. I think it’s normal, but I am hoping there will be time for that to heal and for him to see his dad as “smart” again. Thanks, J.D.
June 15th, 2008 at 8:49 am
Thanks for posting this, J.D. It was amazing to me how much of the advice was appropriate (like, don’t shoot so many asteroids just for the fun of it). The thought I’m taking away is that even if people don’t make the best choices, you shouldn’t write off what they have to teach. Oh, and that girls have changed a lot over the years. We’re still handy, but I have a sneaking suspicion that there’s a lot less pity-ironing than in years past…
June 15th, 2008 at 9:25 am
thank you so much for sharing this with us. can i ask when this letter was written in relation to his passing away?
June 15th, 2008 at 9:45 am
That is very touching. Thank you for sharing something so personal.
June 15th, 2008 at 10:04 am
You have just given me yet another reason to continue reading your blog.
June 15th, 2008 at 11:06 am
Some background:
I let a pretty sheltered childhood. We lived in rural Oregon, and didn’t do much with the kids in town. My family was fairly poor, though my father had run a successful business when I was in grade school. (For a variety of reasons, however, we didn’t have much to show for it.)
I knew my parents wouldn’t be able to pay for college, so I worked to get scholarships, which I did. I really chafed at my father when I was in high school — like any kid, I thought he didn’t know anything.
College was liberating, in many ways. It was a new world. I went there and, much to my discredit, pretty much forgot about my family.
My father sent this letter to me in early January 1989, just after he and I had a big row. I didn’t really think much of it at the time. When he died in July 1995, I didn’t think of it, either. But when I found it recently while sorting through memorabilia (getting rid of Stuff!), I knew that it was important.
June 15th, 2008 at 11:30 am
Damn..this post makes me realize I’m taking my family for granted a bit. I can’t imagine losing my father at my age since your dad was about the same age as my dad now. I made sure I gave my dad a call today to say thanks
Happy Fathers Day.
June 15th, 2008 at 11:59 am
Excellent…Inspired me to write something like this for my kids…Thanks for sharing this.
June 15th, 2008 at 12:05 pm
Thanks for sharing JD. I especially liked the part where your dad reminded you that you have looks, brains, and you are nice to be around. Happy Fathers Day!
June 15th, 2008 at 12:33 pm
great post JD.. i think your pops had the right intentions when writing the letter
my pops passed at a young age as well (51 - after my 18th birthday).. i looked up to him because he was the provider.. i wish i had his money skills.. he was a CPA.. and loved horse racing.. he could make a couple grand from a few dollars
June 15th, 2008 at 1:38 pm
Haha Wear Clean Underwear thats a classic but its true cant become successful being all dirty great post! ~Nick~
June 15th, 2008 at 2:45 pm
Re: #3–thankfully, there are plenty of good tasty vegetables around so that you don’t have to eat green beans for good nutrition.
Re: #6–sadly, he’s right about this. But then, they eventually grow up to be Women and the guys are usually left quite befuddled.
Re:#8a–I have to go find some kleenex because this made me cry.
Thanks for sharing this note.
June 15th, 2008 at 3:28 pm
I know a guy that writes in a journal so that when his kids get old enough, they will know what he did while he was deployed. This reminds me of some of the stuff he wrote.
Something is lost in the emails my parents write to me.
June 15th, 2008 at 4:53 pm
Parents earn their relationships with their children by their actions, JD. I don’t believe your ignoring your family during college does you any discredit at all given that your father essentially says in his letter that that is why your mother and he did to you as a child. “Do as I say and not as I do” rarely works unless the kid somehow ends up more responsible as an act of rebellion.
I’m sure your father was a good person, but like many parents, was self-involved and his kid bore the brunt. Some of this letter seems to be a wish to impart wisdom and own up to mistakes, but some of it also is self-serving. It’s as if he realizes the distance is there and now he’d like to bring you closer through assertions not clearly borne out by actions (his love for you), requests (to invite your parents to where you live) and even bribes (groceries in hand).
There’s a whiff of both arrogance (’I know better than you’) and despair (’I screwed up and our relationship is deteriorating but I want to tug you back before I’m old and lonely’) in the letter. I appreciate that you put something so personal out there for others to see.
June 15th, 2008 at 4:55 pm
So great of you to share. Your Father may not have been perfect but he did have some sound things to try and convey to you. My fave is the first paragrahp under ‘Cure’.
Thanks again for sharing.
June 15th, 2008 at 5:36 pm
I had a similar story, but instead of a letter my pops lost his job when I was a freshman in college. We were a bit “strained” at the time (we didn’t talk from when i moved out until he told me he got canned - about 20 months). His getting fired turned out to be one of the best things that could happen to either of us. We somehow regained the bond and made me realize how short money can get in the couple months till he got a new job (and it forced me to graduate in 3 years due to cost).
Good little mix of personal and finance help tossed all together.
Great post, and I’ve got to give my dad a call. Thanks JD.
June 15th, 2008 at 5:38 pm
This is so sweet.
June 15th, 2008 at 8:41 pm
Oh, JD, thank you so much for sharing this. It meant an awful lot to me for reasons I won’t enumerate, but save to say it’s truly appreciated.
June 15th, 2008 at 8:51 pm
It’s scary how dads seem to think alike. I received similar advice from my dad over the course of my university career. The only difference being that the method of communication used was e-mail as opposed to a letter…
June 15th, 2008 at 10:02 pm
JD that was such a wonderful post to share with us! Thank you for that rare treat.
(And i agree with Sara… No pity ironing from me!)
June 15th, 2008 at 10:38 pm
It’s heartwarming! My dad used to give me very similar advice throughout my college years. Thread 9 (”#9…They might come with bags of groceries in each arm.”) depicts a touching scene which actually happened and meant a lot to me. Thank you for sharing this, JD.
June 16th, 2008 at 2:00 am
J.D.
I’ve become a regular reader of your blog over the past few months and read your updates with interest as i have a healthy interest in personal finance, but i’ve never felt the need to post a reply before, until today. I lost my father suddenly almost 2 years ago and still miss him and regret the fact that he isn’t around to see my kids growing up. My father was the strong, quiet type, worked hard all his life and while we didn’t have much growing up , we never felt we were missing out. He never expressed his feelings much but we knew he loved us and was fiercely proud of us. I would love to have a letter from him, like yours, but he wasn’t that type of person. Each of my kids will get letters from me as they grow up. Thanks for sharing this with us, and please keep up the excellent work..
June 16th, 2008 at 2:05 am
It is back to what you always say, JD, that personal finance is a matter of the mind, not maths. There’s a lifetime’s experience in that letter, and while your relationship might not have been perfect many of us (myself included) would wish that their father would take the time and trouble to write a letter like that.
Pity still that so many things in life we have to learn ourselves rather than through experiences passed on by others.
June 16th, 2008 at 5:42 am
You were loved by your father indeed. I tell my father I love him and he says the same to me, but wonder if he ever said it to his father (my grandfather) before he died.
Thanks for sharing that great letter.
By the way, did your father have reason to suspect your underwear may not be clean?
June 16th, 2008 at 5:47 am
J.D., knowing what you know now, I wonder what you would add to his letter, if you were writing to the younger generation?
June 16th, 2008 at 6:23 am
“If this is the case the cure is to focus on the objective β getting through school β and realizing that the βitβ that they have is privelege that come with wealthy parents.”
HA! Turns out their parents weren’t so wealthy… they were using their house as an atm and credit cards to finance their lifestyle!
Seriously though, I think in a way its good that you ignored his advice at 19. Financial advice is usually so abstract that we can’t possibly know the good until we suffer through the bad. Had you not made that 35K debt ‘mistake’, you absolutely wouldn’t be where you are now. Think of it as tuition.
June 16th, 2008 at 8:49 am
Thank you for posting it, it brought tears to my eyes. Being a parent myself no one is perfect, but his love for you shines through. And like someone else said, I would have loved it if my Dad wrote me a letter like that in college.
June 16th, 2008 at 8:51 am
I’m pleased for you JD that you saved that letter (and shared it with us).
My father has never expressed himself in writing, or verbally, and I worry how deeply that will affect me when he eventually passes. Consider yourself lucky to have this memento.
My favorite part:
” You can do most anything you want and you will have our approval as long as we know you are OK.”
I think that’s a real gift. My parents were like that too - they didn’t pressure me for high achievement and made it clear my life was *my* life - and that whatever choices I made were OK by them. I didn’t think much of that when I didn’t know better - then I grew up more and got to know many people from many varied backgrounds…and grew to appreciate that immeasurably.
Your father was flawed obviously (as we all are). But it is clear he was commited to being *your* dad. Not everyone is so lucky.
PS: I wish I had taken my dad’s verbal advice on finances when I hit college and beyone; how come we are so dumb at that age? d’oh! I’d be a millionaire now if I had.
June 16th, 2008 at 9:05 am
Those Winter Sundays
Sundays too my father got up early
And put his clothes on in the blueback cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.
I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he’d call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,
Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love’s austere and lonely offices?
Robert Hayden
June 16th, 2008 at 9:52 am
It’s touching, and I identify now as a parent–we really do worry about our children more than they’ll know, until they have some of their own. As an estate planner, I encourage parents to write letters like these with their trusts regarding their desires for their children–they mean a lot when the parents are gone. It’s also nice to look back on letters like this with some perspective–you’ll see and understand things you didn’t see before.
June 16th, 2008 at 11:57 am
Ha ha…wear clean underwear? Thats funny
June 16th, 2008 at 4:37 pm
Thanks for sharing this.
Don’t feel too bad about “not getting it” when he tried to teach you. My dad was the poster child for frugality/cheapness, and I didn’t get it until I made a bunch of mistakes of my own and realize he was pretty smart.
Some of the comments are reading a lot of negative qualities into the letter. I wonder if that’s because the comments are made by people who are not parents. Parents are not more perfect human beings simply because they had children. They do the best they can with what they know.
I thought he showed a lot of self-awareness by warning you about the problems he would have when you asserted your independence, and sharing that he can’t just give up worrying about you. I hope I can say something as loving to my children when it’s that time.
June 18th, 2008 at 11:50 am
Thanks for sharing, your dad gave very great and worthwhile advice in the letter.
November 21st, 2008 at 9:05 am
J.D., thank you; a lovely letter from a guy who did the best he could with what he had.
Especially to the guys here, several of whom mention their relationships with their fathers becoming “strained” as they became young men: It makes sense, don’t you think? Of course the relationship is “strained” - first you strain at the ties that bind, then you separate, to become yourself, as an adult, and not a child-extension of the parent - the father, particularly. And then, if you’re lucky, you get to return to your parent on common ground: two adult males of the same family, building additional bonds. My sincerest sympathy to the guys and their fathers - my brothers included - who never had the opportunity for that final adult-adult bond.
December 28th, 2009 at 10:39 pm
J.D So nice thank you