“In this world, nothing can
be said to be certain except death and taxes.”
- Benjamin Franklin
Mr. Franklin made that profound, albeit limited, observation in a letter he sent
in 1789. No doubt many an argument has been waged over the years as to which
is the more contemptible of the two. While many have been asked to accept the
former with dignity, accepting the latter with any sort of decorum seems relegated
to suckers and high-minded Marxists. And while American ingenuity comes up with
increasingly intricate ways of cheating the latter, I have yet to hear of a representative
of any nation figuring out how to cheat the former.
The two seem to come at us as a series of punches. Here’s death with a
right jab. Taxes delivers a walloping left hook. We spend a good part of our
lives doing our best Muhammad Ali impersonation - bobbing and weaving, and trying
to keep our chins protected. But you must be careful not to let your guard down
or you’re on the mat for the ten count before you can say Joe Frazier.
I let my guard down. I bought a home this past year and had a child, and was
practically salivating over the financial benefits I was told I would reap from
home ownership. But Uncle Sam and the state of New York almost caused me to choke
on my own saliva with their one-two combination of punches. I won’t go
into details, but suffice it to say that misinformation and an unexpected series
of events caused me to underestimate my tax responsibilities and to lose my proverbial
footing. I left my mid-section exposed and found myself on the canvas sucking
air.
But even as I found myself lying there with stars and bluebirds spinning around
my head, like something out of a Tex Avery cartoon, I had sense enough to be
thankful that I hadn’t seen the right jab. It sucks to give up money, especially
money you don’t feel you can afford to give up, but I thanked God that
I had my health, that my son and wife were fine and that my family could say
the same.
My friend was not so lucky. He got sucker punched. His dad, who was 59 years
old and had not been sick, passed away a few days before Easter. Damn you, Death.
At least fight a fair fight. I did my best to be supportive and to offer condolences
but at a time like this you become the spectator at ringside who can do no more
than shout encouragements and watch helplessly as your buddy tries to maintain
his balance in the ring. As you watch your friend shake off the cobwebs of the
staggering blow he just received, a thought occurs to you, “No matter the
size of the check you had to sign, you got a bargain.”
And so the fight continues. Death and Taxes are asked to go to a neutral corner
and you’re given a chance to readjust your mouthpiece and wipe the sweat
from your brow. The fight’s not over and you’re not giving up.
So it seems that Ben wasn’t completely correct in his musings, for there
is one other thing that we can also be certain of in this world, and that is
our ability to hope. We’re born with it, our innate ability to not only
believe that things can get better but to expect them to. It’s what gets
us out of bed in the mornings, keeps us from calling it quits and allows a son,
a campus or a nation to weather a crushing blow and to pull themselves up off
the canvas, put up their dukes and ask for another round.
