Until I was 12 years old or so, my prized possession was a small, stuffed lion that I had for as long as I could remember. When I made my bed in the morning (I really did make my bed most mornings), that little lion would sit proudly on my pillow until night came when I would tuck it into bed with me.
When my older brother and I decided to convert our bunk bed into a trundle-style bed, there wasn’t room for my little lion on the pillow when I pushed my bed under my brother’s for the day. So, I would place him atop the mound of stuffed animals in my “pet net” that hung from the corner of my room. He would watch over the room majestically until I’d pull him down again each night.
That lion was my favorite non-human companion for years, and thinking back on my little lion reminds me of something Benjamin Franklin once wrote. In November of 1779, Franklin shared a story in a letter to a Madame Brillon, which came to be known as The Whistle. In it, Franklin recalled how, when he was seven, he eagerly spent all the money in his pockets to buy a whistle that had caught his ear.
He reported going home, whistling all over the house, but recounted:
My brothers, and sisters, and cousins, understanding the bargain I had made, told me I had given four times as much for it as it was worth; put me in mind what good things I might have bought with the rest of the money; and laughed at me so much for my folly, that I cried with vexation; and the reflection gave me more chagrin than the whistle gave me pleasure.
In his letter to Madame Brillon, Franklin shared that the lesson he learned was “when I was tempted to buy some unnecessary thing, I said to myself, Don’t give too much for the whistle; and I saved my money.”
Most kids don’t think about things in terms of monetary value. Whoever purchased that lion for me probably spent under $5 for it in 1979. $5 today won’t even buy a lousy meal at [insert the fast food restaurant of your choice].
That little lion was a major fixture in my life for more than 12 years. I took the relatively little amount of money someone spent and stretched the value of what it purchased out over more than a decade. While they likely didn’t know it, I would consider that $5 some of the best money they ever spent.
Like Mr. Franklin, eventually I grew up. I don’t remember at what point I stopped sleeping with that careworn lion in my bed. Eventually, he was sent off — along with the rest of my stuffed animals — to the thrift store.
Cherished (and difficult) memories from childhood often serve to define our character as we age, but as we age there’s opportunity for each of us to find those dusty memories that aren’t at our core, clean them off a bit, and learn something valuable from them.
I haven’t thought about that little lion in decades, but apart from the people that surrounded me in my earliest years, that lion was something I loved like a dear friend.
From his whistle experience, Benjamin Franklin made the observation that, in life, far too many of us give “too much for the whistle,” whatever that whistle might represent in our lives.
The parting thought in recounting his story is this:
In short, I conceive that great part of the miseries of mankind are brought upon them by the false estimates they have made of the value of things, and by their giving too much for their whistles.
Franklin’s lesson is a valuable one that raises the question, how many of us pay too much for our own whistles. We exhaust ourselves in the pursuit of status, stuff, and social validation, investing far more than what things are truly worth. Sometimes, it takes years for the reflection to sink in to realize just how much we’ve sacrificed for things that, in the end, don’t bring much lasting joy.
Of course, hindsight brings the clarity we don’t enjoy in the moment and helps us see the things we might have overvalued.
Look, Franklin’s lesson isn’t just about misplacing our priorities or spending too much money on purchases — it’s about understanding what really matters to us. My stuffed lion had little monetary value when it was purchased and far less when I donated it to goodwill, but the intrinsic value is incalculable.
It begs asking ourselves the question, Are the whistles I’m chasing today worth the cost?
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