25
Keep an Open Mind

THREE WEEKS BEFORE my wife and I were married, her grandfather died of an aneurism. Just one month prior he had sent us pictures of his new wedding tuxedo that unfortunately he would never get to wear. We were devastated. Grandpa Phil was a great man whom everyone adored—he was a well-known physician in a small town in upstate New York, an accomplished photographer, and an all-around good guy. He looked like a big teddy bear, and he reminded me a lot of my own grandfather, who had long since passed.

The day before his funeral, we had to sort through Grandpa Phil’s belongings to see what family members wanted to keep and what they wanted to give away. He had a large house, so we divided up the task by rooms and I got the basement. While weeding my way through the clutter, I found a dusty old trunk that looked like it hadn’t been touched in years. I opened it and found hoards of files, each marked with a brief description of what the folder contained. Most were filled with photographs that Grandpa Phil had taken of his family and grandchildren over the years. However, one file in particular that caught my eye had only “1934” written on the label. Inside was an old, yellowed clipping from the local newspaper. Intrigued, I sat down and gave the article a quick skim.

The story was about a court case where a man was actually sued by his own parents. He had gone to study medicine in Edinburgh, Scotland, in the late 1920s because at the time many medical schools in the United States would not accept Jewish students. Although his parents had readily provided some financial support for his academic endeavor abroad, they had a change of heart when he married a non-Jewish Scottish woman whom he had met while at school. His parents disowned them both and then sued him for all of the money they had invested in his medical education. Moreover, after his wedding day, his mother and father held a traditional ceremony of mourning for him as if he were dead. The man eventually prevailed in an extended legal battle, but his parents never talked to him again. He and his wife, and subsequently his children and grandchildren, were permanently cut off from his parents and relatives, many of whom lived in neighboring towns.

Only after I reread the article a couple of times did I realize that the man in the story was Grandpa Phil. I was struck by the regret that his parents must have experienced at some point for never seeing their son’s family grow up and for never being a part of their grandchildren’s and great-grandchildren’s lives. I also tried to imagine how hard it must have been for Grandpa Phil and his family to live in such isolation; surely it must have been a source of regret for them as well.

People may look different, act different, or believe in different things. But that doesn’t make them any worse than us—or us any better than them. When we reject others simply because they are different, we deny them the respect they deserve as human beings and make a statement about our own character in the process. We also miss out on the opportunity to get to know what they have to offer as individuals. This sense of “never knowing what could have been,” along with the narrow-mindedness and implicit arrogance that go with it, are viable reasons for regret that can easily be avoided if we work harder to keep an open mind.

Make it a habit to set aside your preconceived notions and assumptions about others. Give them the benefit of the doubt and strive to be more accepting of their differences. Think of how you would like to be treated if you were in their shoes, and then treat them accordingly. When you keep an open mind, people just may surprise you and do great things.

Give people a chance
to shine—they just
may surprise you
and do great things.

∼ What is an example of when you’ve prejudged someone, only to regret it later?

∼ How will you give people a chance to shine going forward?