It probably didn't happen as frequently as I seem to recall, yet because of its multi-sensory impact, I can't shake the memory.
I shared a room with my older brother when he was fifteen and I was just seven. Naturally my bedtime was a couple of hours before his. Invariably, just as I was drifting off to sleep he would come in without an inkling of respect for my state of being. The light would go on. The radio would be turned up, and he would begin his nighttime callisthenic workout , consisting of pushups, curls on his free weights, and sit-ups. Throughout his workout he constantly reminded me how much his muscles were growing: "Look at my biceps Mark. I'm a man. You're a boy!"
By the time he was done I was usually wide awake. At this point he would lean over, pull off his sweaty socks, and... smell his own feet. Then he would sigh out loud and proclaim his deep satisfaction: "Mark! My feet smell good!"
He would stretch out his yellowish, big toe toward my face. "Hey Mark! Smell my feet! They have become particularly delicious, wouldn't you agree?"
There was no need to bring them any closer. From across the room their stench already invoked of the memory of bad cheese and stale vomit. But he wasn't content to allow his radiance to disturb me from a distance. He tormented me from close enough that I still quiver at the memory.
"Breath deeply little man. The sweet aroma will make you strong like me!"
My eldest brother was nothing like this. He always showed kindness toward me, found time for me, listened to me, and never so much as lifted his hand against me.
Unfortunately, when the two older boys were together they were inseparable. So much so, that if all three of us were in a room together, I became invisible, inaudible -- a paralyzed flea.
Christmastime came with the older boy home for a visit. Again after I had nearly fallen asleep the workout commenced, but this time there were two of them. Joyful, wrestling, loud music, chatter. More than awake, I was steaming sullenly, angry, envious.
With the stronger, gentler elder present, I calculated my safety.
The bully was barefoot, "tight-rope walking" the footboard of my bed, coached by the other. I sat up, still invisible, and edged closer toward the foot of the bed with ill intent -- no longer a flea nor paralyzed.
The stinky feet fueled my seething objective. He was teetering on the footboard when I sat up and pounced, two-handing him in the side with everything I had.
My timing was perfect. He fell hard, crashed against the dresser, knocking his elbow awkwardly to the hardwood floor, the full weight of his body thrown in to the impact, hurting, but not breaking it.
It was as if the two of them now saw me for the first time, wide-eyed and incredulous. What kind of a freak? What on earth?
The normally tender-voiced senior brother looked very seriously at me: "What is the matter with you?"
In my seven year-old mind I felt the sting of their dismay more than any physical rebuttal could have reigned down on me.
Like family relationships, money is always personal no matter the context. Try declining a loan, wrestling control of a business away from its founder, or advising an investor to delve in to something that is against his or her core philosophy. You might as well amputate a limb. Money is the evidence of decades of personal sweat, creativity and risks taken. You can literally smell the life of it on some of the older currency, (although I wouldn't necessarily recommend it).
If it could talk, what tales that old wrinkled bill could tell! It's only money? Yeah right! Can you imagine anything more life-affirming than the accumulated output of forty years of toil?
In light of this, how do we choose a good banker, advisor, or accountant? Here are some considerations:
When you meet with them, are they genuinely interested in your life? What questions do they ask? Do they constantly interrupt you with stories about themselves, or do they invest time in finding out the latest on what matters to you and how that might impact their recommendations? It's forgivable for a young man to become the centre of his own universe, but that's a quality to avoid in an adult you place a high level of trust in.
Steer clear of the cheese-footed ones, who seem to want to constantly self-actualize right before your eyes. And if it looks like they are about to take off their socks, run away!
Mark Ryan is an advisor in Prince George with RBC Wealth Management, Dominion Securities, and can be reached at [email protected].
