Inheritance

  

 

My first million came with no effort on my part. Well, maybe there was, but it seemed different. My uncle had died and left me an inheritance. At 19, he had started a trucking company with an old, rusty pickup. His motto was: we will haul anything at any time anywhere. By the time he died, the trucking company was worth ten million. At least that’s what he sold it for.

The million was in the bank, and I couldn’t touch it for five years. I was 16 and ready to buy my first car. We lived on a farm, just me, my dad and mom. My dad came into my bedroom. I was studying for an English test the following afternoon. Our farm was big enough to make an adequate income. Dad came in and sat on the edge of my bed. He had done this before when he wanted to talk to me about something important. I put down my pen and waited for him to speak. I knew they, my mother and he, had gone for the reading of the will.

“Your uncle. My brother Don left you a million dollars.” He said with finality. I looked at him, my mouth hanging open. I knew he liked me and thought I had a level head on my shoulders. But a million dollars? Thoughts ran through my head about a new car. Tooling into the parking lot at school with a new Porsche. Hanging out with the prettiest girl. His next words brought me back to earth. “You can’t touch it until you’re 21.”

My face fell. He laughed. “Son, do you know what we will do next week?”
“planting corn and then soybeans.” I would run one tractor after school.

“What would you think if I fired up the combine and ran it over the newly planted ground?” He smiled.

“We would think you’re crazy. Seed takes time to grow.” I smiled back at him.

“You’re right, and so does the money your uncle left you. Your mother and I have agreed to add to this million your uncle gave you 500,000.00 over the next five years. By the time you’re 21, you should have about a couple of million at your disposal.” He got up and left my room. I sat there, thinking about it. I had just become the richest boy in high school. I was richer than the teachers. I would like to tell you i waited patiently for the years to pass. I didn’t. There were times I looked at a friend’s new car while I drove an old junker. Well, in retrospect, it didn’t seem like a junker before my inheritance.

A year later, when I turned 17, I sat down with my father. “Dad.” I began the in my throat getting bigger. I was about to turn down half a million dollars. “What if you use the money you are going to give me for a down payment on Mr. Bogard’s farm?” Frank Bogard had just moved in with his daughter in the next county. His farm of five hundred acres joined by parents’ ground at the back of our property. It had just come onto the market.My dad was quiet for a few seconds. Then he said. “Son, farming is a risky business. There are some years we just barely break even.”

“I know that, Dad. But the Bogard farm is for sale now. I think I can make a profit better than the interest the bank offers.” I looked at him expectantly.

“Tell you what. Let me pray about it and talk to your mother. I’ll give you my answer this weekend.”
“Thanks.” I walked out of his office. I knew better than to ask him before Sunday night. Mom and Dad prayed about everything. They also agreed on everything. If my mother said no, my father would not override her.

I waited, sweating blood. On Friday night, on my way home, I saw that the realtor’s sign had a yellow sticker crossed out. Sold. I stopped the car, got out, and with tears, wanted to rip the sign from the ground. It would do no good. The farm I wanted. The ground adjoining my parents’ place was sold out from under me. I drove home and parked in the driveway. I gloomily trudged into the house. Dad and Mom met me at the back door. Both of them were smiling. Dad held out a key. I looked at it stupidly. “We bought the Bogard farm for you. The realtor will be here in about half an hour to wrap things up.” I stared at him, open-mouthed.

“But…but dad. The price for Mr. Bogard’s farm is seven hundred and fifty thousand.” I finally said.

“Yes, and you know Frank Bogard and I have been friends for years. I gave him a hundred thousand and promised if you couldn’t make the payments I would. We shook on it and now the farm is yours.”“We believe in you, son.” My mother said, laying her hand on my arm. I looked at them, and tears came to my eyes.

The meeting with the realtor was like a dream come true. The next morning my parents and I drove to the Bogard property. The barn needed a fresh coat of paint and minor repairs. The house was another story. Mr. Bogard had lived there for ten years after his wife died of cancer. The wallpaper was old and peeling in the living room, bedroom, and kitchen. The back porch was falling down, but the foundation was sound. It was obvious Frank Bogard had taken better care of the farm than of himself. We walked through the fields.

My father showed me the best places in the land to plant heavy and the places to avoid. I followed his advice, but because it was a poor year, I barely made a profit.

The next year I graduated from high school and made the house livable. I took the summer when I was 17 and repaired the house. I took it down to the 2x4s and rebuilt the walls. I hired an electrician for the wiring and dry walled the entire house myself. I put plywood on the floors and had Lowe’s carpet them. I rebuilt the back porch and resowed the lawn. I tore down the garage and built a new one.

On my eighteenth birthday, I moved into the new house. My parents and I worked out an agreement. We would work the land together as he had with Frank Bogard. Fifty percent of the profit and cost would go to both of us. In the summer of my 18th year, Frank Bogard died. In his will, he forgave my parents and me the debt for the farm. I now owned the land free and clear. The day of Frank’s funeral, I spoke to his daughter. She smiled and said that she and her father had spoken about it before he died. They and the family agreed it would be his gift to us.

The next morning, I took a cup of coffee in a travel mug and walked through the fields. What a great gift! First from my uncle and now from Frank Bogard. That morning, looking over the field of waving corn and soybeans, I promised The Lord I would be a good steward of the land and leave an inheritance to my children.

At 20 years of age, I had settled down to one girl I was dating. Sally Ann Wigen. She stared the same vision I did for the land. She had worked for me cleaning the house once a week. On the day Sally came, I stopped working long enough to have a meal with her. At first, I had to persuade her to eat with me. To her, I was still the boss. Finally, I convinced her. Slowly over the next few months, Sally Ann became essential to my life. She began sitting with me in church. One Sunday afternoon in June, we were sitting on the porch swing. I suddenly stood up and dropped to one knee. Sally Ann put her hands to her mouth. I pulled the ring box out of my pocket. Before I could get the words out, she was nodding her head. Yes she would marry me. She told her parents, and from there was a whirlwind of activity.      

 We had a amazing wedding and spent the last part of our honeymoon working on the house and yard. The next year I turned 21 and the million my uncle left me at 16 was mine. It was now up to about a little over a million and a half. With my wife’s agreement, we left it in the bank.

One morning in the spring of my 22nd year, I stood with my arms on the top rail of the fence surrounding the barn. Sally Ann joined me, her stomach protruding with our first son. She smiled. I took her in my arms. “I love you.” She whispered in my ear. I smiled at her. “I love you too.” I said tears coming to my eyes.

From far away, I could hear my father’s tractor preparing the fields for this year’s crop. Someday this land spreading out before me would be our son’s. And so it would be from generation to generation, providing an inheritance for those who came after us.