Here is the first point I am trying to make in this chapter： Itis natural for people to forget to be grateful; so， if we go aroundexpecting gratitude， we are headed straight for a lot of heartaches.
I know a woman in New York who is always complainingbecause she is lonely. Not one of her relatives wants to go nearher—and no wonder. If you visit her， she will tell you for hourswhat she did for her nieces when they were children： she nursedthem through the measles and the mumps and the whoopingcough; she boarded them for years; she helped to send one ofthem through business school， and she made a home for the otheruntil she got married.
Do the nieces come to see her? Oh， yes， now and then， out ofa spirit of duty. But they dread these visits. They know they will have to sit and listen for hours to half-veiled reproaches. Theywill be treated to an endless litany of bitter complaints and selfpitying sighs. And when this woman can no longer bludgeon，browbeat， or bully her nieces into coming to see her， she has oneof her “spells”。 She develops a heart attack.
Is the heart attack real? Oh， yes. The doctors say she has “anervous heart”， suffers from palpitations. But the doctors also saythey can do nothing for her—her trouble is emotional.
What this woman really wants is love and attention. Butshe calls it “gratitude”。 And she will never get gratitude or love，because she demands it. She thinks it’s her due.
There are thousands of women like her， women who are illfrom “ingratitude”， loneliness， and neglect. They long to be loved;but the only way in this world that they can ever hope to be lovedis to stop asking for it and to start pouring out love without hope ofreturn.
Does that sound like sheer， impractical， visionary idealism?
It isn’t. It is just horse sense. It is a good way for you and me tofind the happiness we long for. I know. I have seen it happen rightin my own family. My own mother and father gave for the joy ofhelping others. We were poor—always overwhelmed by debts. Yet，poor as we were， my father and mother always managed to sendmoney every year to an orphans’ home—the Christian Home inCouncil Bluffs， Iowa. Mother and Father never visited that home.
Probably no one thanked them for their gifts—except by letter—
but they were richly repaid， for they had the joy of helping littlechildren—without wishing for or expecting any gratitude in return.
After I left home， I would always send Father and Mother acheque at Christmas and urge them to indulge in a few luxuriesfor themselves. But they rarely did. When I came home a few daysbefore Christmas， Father would tell me of the coal and groceries they had bought for some “widder woman” in town who had a lotof children and no money to buy food and fuel. What joy they gotout of these gifts—the joy of giving without accepting anythingwhatever in return！
I believe my father would almost have qualified for Aristotle’sdescription of the ideal man—the man most worthy of beinghappy. “The ideal man，” said Aristotle， “takes joy in doing favoursfor others; but he feels ashamed to have others do favours forhim. For it is a mark of superiority to confer a kindness; but it is amark of inferiority to receive it.”
Here is the second point I am trying to make in this chapter： Ifwe want to find happiness， let’s stop thinking about gratitude oringratitude and give for the inner joy of giving.
Parents have been tearing their hair about the ingratitude ofchildren for ten thousand years. Even Shakespeare’s King Learcried out： “How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have athankless child！”
But why should children be thankful—unless we train them tobe? Ingratitude is natural—like weeds. Gratitude is like a rose. Ithas to be fed and watered and cultivated and loved and protected.
If our children are ungrateful， who is to blame? Maybe we are.
If we have never taught them to express gratitude to others， howcan we expect them to be grateful to us?
I know a man in Chicago who has cause to complain of theingratitude of his stepsons. He slaved in a box factory， seldomearning more than forty dollars a week. He married a widow， andshe persuaded him to borrow money and send her two grownsons to college. Out of his salary of forty dollars a week， he had topay for food， rent， fuel， clothes， and also for the payments on hisnotes. He did this for four years， working like a coolie， and nevercomplaining.
Did he get any thanks? No; his wife took it all for granted—
and so did her sons. They never imagined that they owed theirstepfather anything—not even thanks！
Who was to blame? The boys? Yes; but the mother was evenmore to blame. She thought it was a shame to burden their younglives with “a sense of obligation”。 She didn’t want her sons to “startout under debt”。 So she never dreamed of saying： “What a princeyour stepfather is to help you through college！” Instead， she tookthe attitude： “Oh， that’s the least he can do.”
She thought she was sparing her sons， but in reality， she wassending them out into life with the dangerous idea that the worldowed them a living. And it was a dangerous idea—for one of thosesons tried to “borrow” from an employer， and ended up in jail！
We must remember that our children are very much what wemake them. For example， my mother’s sister—Viola Alexander—