The Sin of Bragging
When I was a child, my father frequently corrected me when I would exhibit behavior that he thought of as “bragging.” I was not to talk about my test scores, my grades, or how quickly I could read books. I was not to talk about working hard or finding things easy that other people found hard. I could talk as much as I wanted about things that I struggled with, and I could listen to other people talk about their struggles, but it was a “sin” for me to brag about how smart I was.
As an adult, I’ve wondered frequently what was behind my father’s need to have his children disguise their gifts. Did he get punished when he showed off his smarts when he was young? Was he bullied by other kids or did adults take him to task and tell him not to brag? Maybe both. When I see photos of my father as a child, I see how painfully awkward and ugly he was, though he grew into a handsome young man who was physically fit and able. I’m aware of the fact that he often felt as if he was competing with other siblings who were more social than he was.
Sometimes I’m angry at him for squelching me on the one thing that I was actually good at. But on the other hand, there was never any doubt what skills my father valued when we were at home. There was just a vast difference between the face he wanted us to show to socially versus the one that he was actually proud of.
It was such a strange thing, working so hard to gain my father’s approval by hustling for good grades and doing well on tests and getting scholarship, while at the same time putting on a show of being “humble” enough for him.
He valued humility in a way that never made sense to me. He insisted on wearing clothes that he thought showed his humility—always refusing to have a tailored suit or shirt and wearing instead clothing from discount stores. He insisted we do the same, though he seemed to wish that my mother would be more fancy in her clothing--just not too fancy. Until the very last years of his life, he drove ratty cars that needed constant repairs. Only once he retired did he buy a couple of nicer, new cars in comparison (still not very fancy).
He insisted that money was something that he cared little about. He worked hard and got paid well most of his life, but he seemed intent on getting rid of money because it was “the root of all evil.” He was very generous (to people who were not his children) when it came to money. I remember as a child him saying that his goal was to die without a cent to his name to leave to his children and without any possessions that we would fight over. I think he succeeded in this in most ways. He never owned anything that I could imagine wanting because nothing he owned lasted long enough to be passed on.
It is a strange legacy he left, in the minds of his children. I spent most of my life believing that money didn’t matter and have only recently, at age 50, realized how very much money does matter and looking back at my life, wondering how I could possibly have missed this important reality for so long. But my dad lives on in my head, reminding me not to brag about my accomplishments, even though I also know that the only things he would be proud of me about are the schools I have graduation certificates from, not the job I currently have that I make money from.