As a young man, Al was a skilled artist, a potter with a wife and two fine sons. One night, his older son developed a severe stomachache. Thinking it was only some common intestinal disorder, neither Al nor his wife took the condition very seriously. But the boy died suddenly that night.
Consumed by guilt, believing the death could have been avoided, Al's life unraveled. His wife left him shortly after, leaving him alone with his six-year-old younger son. Overwhelmed by grief, Al turned to alcohol for solace and in time became an alcoholic.
As his addiction worsened, Al lost everything he possessed—his land, his house, his livelihood. He died alone in a small bar. Upon hearing the news, I thought, "What a totally wasted life! What a complete failure!"
Years later, my perspective shifted. I came to know Al's now-adult son, Ernie. He is one of the kindest, most caring men I have ever known. Witnessing the love between Ernie and his own children, I wondered where such goodness originated.
Ernie seldom spoke of his father. One day, I gathered the courage to ask him what his father had done to help shape him into such a remarkable person. Ernie said quietly, "From my childhood until I left home at 18, my father came into my room every night, gave me a kiss, and said, 'Love you, son.'"
Tears filled my eyes as I realized my foolish judgment. Al had left behind no material wealth. But he had been a loving father, and he left behind a legacy of love.