David Gartland

MY SON AND I WALK the streets of our town, so my son can pick up trash and recyclables. He’s obsessive-compulsive about trash. He impulsively picks it up even if he isn’t wearing gloves or doesn’t have his grabber available. To reduce this behavior, he and I go out daily looking for trash, so he feels there’s less trash out there.
We do find trash, but we also find things that I wouldn’t classify as trash.

FIDDLER ON THE ROOF is the timeless tale of a poor Jewish dairy farmer in Russia during the early 20th century. What makes the musical timeless? It tells the story of a worker, husband, father and religious believer who’s trying to succeed in all these facets of his life.
One of the show’s most famous songs is, “If I Were a Rich Man.” As the title implies, the farmer dreams of a life of wealth and how wonderful that would be.

THERE USED TO BE a TV show called Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. I assume it was created to make viewers envy rich people and want what they had. The memorable catchphrase of the host, repeated at the end of every episode, was “champagne wishes and caviar dreams.”
Envy is one of the seven deadly sins—for good reason. All it does is cause heartache and pain. When I was younger,

“YOU CAN PAY ME NOW—or you can pay me later.” Years ago, that was the catch phrase, spoken by an auto mechanic working on a broken-down car, in ads for FRAM oil filters. The pitch: If you spend a modest sum on routine car maintenance, you’ll avoid far bigger bills down the road.
The same philosophy applies to retirement savings. There’s a constant tradeoff between now and later.
Faced with life’s challenges, we need to strike a balance.

ONE OF THE MOST exciting events at a track meet is the relay race. Each runner has to run his or her leg, and then hand over the baton to the next runner. If the baton gets dropped, the team usually loses.
My wife and I occupy two roles in our financial life. I save the money and my wife spends it. This arrangement works well for my wife. When she complains about my frugal nature,

ROGER PENSKE STARTED as a race car driver, but soon found he’d be better off as a team owner. Penske’s holding company also has stakes in Penske Truck Leasing, among other businesses, as well as the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, home of the Indy 500.
One of Penske’s criteria when hiring race car drivers: select folks with a burning desire to win. Penske has said he can guide a driver’s thinking about the best way to pursue wins,

THE FIRST TIME I GOT laid off, I was working in an insurance company’s training and development department. I’d been working in another department at the company when I saw a job posting for the position. The training department was looking for someone with subject matter expertise and experience in teaching.
At that point, I’d been working in property and casualty underwriting for 14 years. On top of that, I was a certified instructor for the Dale Carnegie course in public speaking.

BILLY JOEL WROTE a song that declares, “I love you just the way you are.” But as parents, sometimes it isn’t easy to say those words about our children.
We’re supposed to train them to succeed in life. We all probably think we’re excellent trainers, so—when our children don’t get it—it must be their fault. We did our part, so why don’t they learn?
For parents of special needs children, things are different, but also similar.

REGULARLY CHANGING the oil is the most important step you can take to extend your car’s engine life. Oil is the engine’s life blood and changing it is one of the least costly maintenance steps. It’s also one of the dirtiest, crummiest, least pleasant jobs you can do.
Before I got married, I lived in a six-story apartment building in Brooklyn, with a parking garage in the basement. A friend of mine lived in the same building.

I LEARNED OF MY brother’s death by Googling his name. I always wondered whether his family would let me know if he was ill or had died. After Google led me to his obituary, I had my answer.
My brother and I were co-executors and co-beneficiaries of my mother’s estate. From the start, we couldn’t agree on how to settle her affairs. I wanted to sell everything and divide by two, but he wanted to hold off selling my mother’s house.

I’VE SPENT MY ADULT life on a self-improvement journey. It’s kept me moving forward or, at least, trying to move forward. I take great pride in what I’ve accomplished and have no regrets about the goals I set.
But a funny thing happened. I retired. I’ve applied the brakes to my life, and now I’m reevaluating what I’ve done and what I want to do.
I’m not Catholic, but I’ve attended many a mass.

MY FAMILY ATTENDED the wedding of our neighbor’s daughter. I was seated next to a friend of my neighbor. My wife believes the seating chart was based on the fact that the family has special needs children. This has happened frequently over the years. It’s as if those of us with special needs children speak a different language.
During the course of the evening, the husband asked me if I had a pen. I knew I did,

THE LAST TIME I HAD a job where I was eligible for a pension was 1994. People with pensions seem to count the days till they’re eligible to collect their monthly check. That makes sense: They know there’s gold at the end of their working life. I didn’t have this sort of “golden parachute.” If I didn’t save, I couldn’t retire.
From 1994 on, funding my 401(k) and IRA were my only paths to a comfortable retirement.

ON ONE OF OUR TRIPS to visit my in-laws in South Carolina, my mother-in-law asked me what I thought of her home in a 55-plus retirement community.
“It looks like a house,” I said sarcastically.
Her response gave me food for thought. She said, “I feel rich living here.”
My mother-in-law’s home was far from being a McMansion. It was a single-story two-bedroom house, but it had cathedral ceilings. I think it was the high ceilings that,

MY WIFE WAS STILL waking up from the general anesthesia. She’d had a Cesarean, or C-section. Meanwhile, I was in the nursery, helping the nurse record my newborn son’s vitals.
The Harry Chapin song Cat’s in the Cradle came over the loudspeaker. For readers unfamiliar with the song, it tells the story of a dad who is more interested in his job than his son. Having kids was never my priority. Making money was,