A wealthy man nearing the end of his days summoned his twin sons to his bedside. Before he died, he told them, he wanted to pass on to them the opportunity to experience the richness of life that he had enjoyed for his many years on earth.
“If I could do so, I would give you both the world,” he told his boys, “but this is not possible, for even I do not own the entire world and everything in it. But there are three treasures I have had the good fortune to experience in my life, and it is my fondest wish, my dying wish, that you would both have these three treasures.
“The first gift is easy to give, and never runs out. I have been giving it to you both since you were born, and die in peace knowing that you both already have it in abundance.
“The second gift is easy to give, but not always easy to have. For some, it never runs out, while for others, it constantly runs out. This gift I give you now, but whether or not you keep it will be up to you.
“The third gift is impossible to give, but can only be gained. I have been showing it to you both your entire lives, but cannot say whether or not you have gained it. This gift I cannot give you, but I can give you an opportunity to see it one last time before I die.”
The boys both wept to hear their father speak of his approaching death, but he smiled and bade them hush with a wave of his hand.
“I see your grief, but in that grief you may be happy, for it is evidence of the first gift, which you have in abundance. Do you know what the first gift is?”
The two boys dried their tears and furrowed their brows in deep thought. Easy to give, and it never runs out . . .
Suddenly the first boy clapped his hands and said, “Love! The first gift is love!” The father smiled. The boy was right. “And the second gift?” he asked them.
They again became quiet with thought. Easy to give, but not always easy to have . . .
The second boy looked up with a start. “Money? Is the second gift money?” It was indeed. For some, it never runs out, while for others, it constantly runs out.
“And the third?”
Impossible to give, can only be gained . . .
This time both boys remained buried in thought. Neither could come up with an answer.
The father smiled again, a little sadly this time. He lifted a beautiful lacquer box from the bedside table onto his lap, opened it and looked inside.
“I offer you both a choice.”
He beckoned the boys to move closer.
“One month from today, you both will turn twenty-one. I will no longer be with you, for my life has run its course. On that day, thirty-one days from now, I have instructed my most trusted advisor to execute a document that will bequeath my home, my treasury, my estate—all that I possess—to the good people of this land, who have treated me with kindness all these years. This place, which has been our home together for these twenty-one years, will become a public trust. I will be well on my way to the next world, and the two of you will set off to make your way in this one.
“Yet I do not wish you to set foot on this journey empty-handed. My last gift to you, on the day of your departure, will be a purse to finance your adventures.
“What goes into each purse is your choice.”
He reached both hands inside the box, and then held them out to the boys. In one hand, he held a sheaf of one thousand crisp, new $1,000 bills. One million dollars. Cash. In the other hand, he held a shiny new copper penny.
“If you take the million in cash, you may take it with you or leave it in your purse for safe-keeping until the day of your journey; your purse will be held by my treasury director.
“If you take the penny, you may also take it with you or leave it in your purse. However, if you choose the penny, my treasury director has instructions to double the contents of your purse every day.”
He took out another lacquer box, identical to the first, opened it, and took out another stack of $1,000 bills and another penny.
“Here is one million; here is one penny. You each have the same choice to make. Whatever you do not take, I will return to my treasury to add to my estate.
“Now, go, rest, and think. Tomorrow morning, come back and tell me your choice.”
All night, the first boy lay in bed thinking, What should I do? Which should I take? What is the lesson? The second boy lay awake, too, but he asked himself different questions. He had made his decision before his father had finished the sentence. Now he was making careful plans for what to do for the next thirty-one days.
When morning came, the second boy sprang into action. After securing the million in cash from his father, he hired a sharp consultant and a manager to help him execute his carefully wrought plan. They rented out a hotel suite, in which they conducted exhaustive, back-to-back interviews for the next six days. By week’s end, they had hired a staff of the finest financial advisers in the land.
The boy’s new crackerjack money-man team spent the second week in intensive, round-the-clock brainstorming sessions, drafting proposal after proposal, seeking the smartest, most cost-effective investment and leveraging strategies, both long-term and short-term, to help the wealthy man’s son turn his million into a genuine fortune.
By week three, the best plans had been selected, winnowed, examined, combed, explored, game-theoried, road-tested, computer-simulated and dissected. With all their i’s dotted and all their t’s crossed, the boy’s advisers were locked and loaded and ready to rumble. Off they went, into the battlefields of commerce and speculation. The boy spent the next few days keeping in close contact with his far-flung financial team by telephone; but by mid-week, it seemed clear that things were well in hand and he was not needed. He decided to pay a visit to his brother, whom he had not seen since breakfast on the morning after that long and sleepless night.
When he arrived at their home, he was shocked to hear his brother’s account of the past few weeks.
After that excited breakfast, the first boy had also paid a visit to his father, but without explaining why, he announced that he had made the second choice. He had taken the penny, left it in the purse, then returned to his room and began reading from one of his favorite books.
The second day, he visited again, and was allowed to peek into the purse: the shiny new penny had been joined by a companion. On the third day, he found four pennies. On the fourth, there were eight, and on the fifth, sixteen, then thirty-two.
By the end of the week, just as his brother’s ace financial team was assembling in the beautiful hotel suite for the first time, he had amassed a nest egg of sixty-four cents. By the end of week two—with nearly half the month gone—his piles of pennies had swelled to just shy of ninety dollars . . . $81.92, to be exact.
On the day his brother’s financial team hit the streets and went out into the world ready to turn his million into billions, his purse had not yet accumulated a hundred dollars—he would not have been able to purchase even a decent dinner for two at the fine hotel where his brother’s suite had been humming with action for two weeks.
Now, a few days into the third week, the purse’s contents had grown a bit more: he now had a sum of $655 (“and thirty-six cents,” he proudly pointed out)—easily enough to sustain him on the road for a full week.
“But you poor sap!” his brother cried on hearing his story. “I can’t believe you went for the penny! It’s not too late—visit our father, see if he will relent and give you your own million. Or if he insists in prorating the amount, then even just half the million—it’s better than scrabbling by on a few paltry hundred! And if he refuses, you’ve got to let me help . . . I can’t stand the idea of you venturing out into the world with scarcely enough to feed yourself for a week!”
But the brother seemed unperturbed and wouldn’t hear of it.
Later that week, the wealthy man called his sons to him one more time and spent several hours with them, sharing memories and telling stories. They both left him in good spirits (though the second boy was secretly very worried about his brother’s prospects).
That night, the old man died peacefully in his sleep.
Toward the end of week four, the second boy’s top advisers brought him some worrisome news. The markets, it seemed, had gone a bit soft. Taken a bit of a tumble, actually. The team had acted quickly and salvaged what they could, but their earlier rosy projections would most certainly need to be revised downward.
The boy thanked them for their vigilance, and waited, fretting and anxious.
At the close of the week, the team brought mixed news. Some investments had performed quite well, others had suffered. All in all, the boy had made a modest gain: starting with his one million in cash, his team had succeeded in parleying that into nearly one and a half million. Unfortunately, his expenses, including their commissions, tax, bills for the hotel suite, broker fees and the rest, came to just over half a million.
The boy had ended the month with just a bit less than he started!
In a panic, he rushed to see his brother, to see how he had fared with his $655 (and thirty-six cents)—only to receive yet another shock. On day 28, his brother’s purse of pennies had passed the million-dollar mark. On day 29, the two-and-a-half-million mark. Yesterday, on day 30, it had doubled to more than five million!
The boy who chose the penny had discovered the extraordinary power that some have called “the eighth wonder of the world”—the remarkable creative force of compound interest.
And today, the boy who chose the penny was worth more than ten million dollars—$10,737,418 . . . and twenty-four cents.
Ooh thirsty3!!! 