Like mother, like daughter?

D wrote me recently that she is disturbed by news she got from her daughter. Brittany and her boyfriend were driving through Texas visiting his relatives, when their car broke down. Apparently they can't fix it, and so they have decided to sell the car ... without telling the buyer about the problems. D goes on to say, ...

I realize being up front about the car's problems requires her to eat the cost of the auto, but basic ethics doesn't leave much wiggle room. If "Do unto to others as you would have them do unto you" is the basis of ethical decision making for all religious people, and is also accepted by secularists, what she is doing is not admirable. I told her so...and she sees the issue clearly, but she feels she can't afford the loss of so much money.... Honestly, what is the point of reading great literature and philosophy if it doesn't make you a better person? I may read weekly magazines and even indulge in the NYRB and The New Yorker, all frivolous wastes of time according to Brittany (I hear about this every time she visits), but I stubbornly believe that what she is doing is wrong despite my low brow reading material. Well...what can I do except love her dearly and vocally, and set another example? Not much.

I'm not quite sure what to say about this, so I haven't said anything. My last letter back to her picked up other topics entirely and was silent on this one. But it's not that nothing comes to mind ... only that I don't think any of it is something D wants to hear.

"Set another example?" Sure. That would be great. Where would you start? Maybe with the time that Brittany was travelling in eastern Europe and stole a volume of philosophy from somebody that she stayed with, just because the book was plainly over the head of its owner? Because he would never begin to understand what it was saying, while she could? And you laughed. You thought it was funny.

Or we could talk about the time early in our relationship when I was disturbed about Son 2 lying to me, and you brushed my concerns away dismissively by saying, "Hosea, everybody lies." You thought it was interesting to look at why and when people lie, but took the lying itself for granted ... like some law of nature.

Gosh, I remember a time back some twenty years ago, when you were still friends with Wife and Brittany was still a little girl. One evening you were visiting Wife and me, and you told us with real amusement about something Brittany had done a few days before, sneaking around behind your back so she could do something you had forbidden to her. I forget the details. You had punished her, partly for the original offense and partly for sneaking about it. And Brittany threw a fit, yelling at you that it was so unfair for you to punish her for being sneaky when you yourself were the sneakiest person she knew! You chuckled while telling us this story, and remarked with a little self-deprecating humor that of course she was right. She must have been all of six years old at that point, and already she knew you so well.

You tell me, D, where do you want to start? Children learn what they live. We reap what we sow.

I still love you madly, now and ever. Don't get me wrong, and never doubt it. But don't think I can't see.