When I was about 8, in 1978, Mom arranged for our family to rent a house for a few weeks in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. We did not believe in hotels (I still do not believe in hotels, and avoid them whenever possible). This was charming and exotic. The air was humid. We had a swimming pool. The house had no screens but had bars against thieves. The crickets were so loud that on the first afternoon that I heard them, I thought a UFO was landing. It was wonderful. Once, some people tried to break in. We made noise, so they went away. We then hung a sign in that window that read "Adios, Amigos Banditos." We had no idea what else to do. I had brought to Mexico all or most of my 8" action figures, including the Joker (Batman's enemy). There was a cleaning woman who came with her two children every day or every few days. One day, I think when we were about to leave for the USA, I discovered that the Joker action figure was missing. I was sad about that. Upon our return to the USA, I asked Mom what to do. She told me to write to the house's owner asking if they ever found the Joker. The lady wrote back (she was an American, I think, who owned a vacation rental in Mexico). She wrote that the thing that I should remember is that most of the children in Mexico have no access to cool things like a green-haired plastic 8" Joker action figure in a purple suit, and that their parents made so little money that such a thing could never be purchased, and that I should remember that they would be much happier with a Joker than I would be, since I had so many action figures. Mother agreed with the woman who wrote the letter, and explained it very well to me. I ended up agreeing, too, and finding this a good way to think about it. This was a characteristic of my mother: she could see all sides of an issue, and could take a compassionate stance. I appreciated this.