Gold, Kindness, and the Price of Shiny Things
Based on a true story of first contact in 1492 — when Columbus met the people of a new world, and the first exchange revealed more than trade. What do we value most: gold… or kindness? (~15 min read)
What follows is a true story of first contact, retold here as a parable — not as a precise record, but as a reflection on what it reveals. I chose this form because it distills history into something timeless, a lesson that still speaks to us today, for every age
At its heart is a simple exchange: beads for gold, novelty for wealth, power for generosity. Yet beneath that moment lies a sharper question that continues to shape our lives: What is truly valuable?
Warmth and Community
The people of the land were gathered around fires, wrapped in songs and stories. They laughed, shared bread, and danced beneath the cold December sky. Their hearts were warm, even as the cold wind whispered through the trees.
A fire crackled high, sparks dancing into the cold night. The children gathered close, wrapped in blankets, laughter weaving through the smoke as the Seer began…
Seer: Let me tell you a story — a true story of greed, gold, and how people view greed differently. Actually, some might say this is the first story of gold — of course, it’s not. Gold had existed for hundreds of years in many far-off lands — Europe, Persia, India — and was used as a form of currency. But let me ask you, my children: does gold have any real intrinsic value, or do we assign it to be so? What makes gold valuable?
A child quickly raises her hand and blurts out
Child: Because it’s shiny!
Seer: True
Young girl: No, it’s because it’s special.
Seer (smiling at both children): True, it is special… but what really makes gold special?
Young boy (rolling his eyes, drawing giggles from the other children): Because we say it’s special, duh.
Seer (chuckling): Very true — and wise, young man. Gold is valuable only because, together, we’ve decided it to be so.
The children shifted closer to the fire, their faces glowing in the light. One little girl hugged her doll tight, her eyes shining with determination.
Child (holding up her doll): Okay… but my dolls are special too.
Seer: That’s true — it looks very special to you, and it’s a lovely doll. But tell me… do you think there are more dolls in the world, or more gold?
The children murmured among themselves. The child frowned, then shrugged, her braids bouncing as she spoke.
Child: I don’t know. All I know is I like my dolls. And when my mom takes me to Granny’s house, I see a lot — I mean a lot! She has a whole bedroom with at least a hundred dolls! She makes them for me, and I love her so much.
The fire crackled. A few of the children smiled, imagining a room filled with dolls.
Seer (smiling): That’s wonderful — she sounds like a very good grandmother. And you’re right, there are many dolls in her home. But think carefully: have you ever seen much gold there, or in other people’s homes? Which do you think there is more of in the world — dolls, or gold?
One child turned to her friend for help, but her friend only shrugged. The girl frowned, then spoke slowly, thinking it through.
Child: Ummm… I don’t think so? I mean, I haven’t seen a lot of gold. Actually—wait—my aunt has a gold ring she wears all the time. And my mom sometimes puts on this shiny necklace when we go to dances and feasts. So yeah, I’ve seen some… but I think I’ve seen way more dolls than gold. All my friends have dolls. I don’t even have any gold myself.
Some of the children nodded, clutching their own little treasures, while the fire popped and hissed in the cold night air.
Seer (smiling warmly): You’re very observant. And you’re right — there isn’t much gold in our village, or in other villages, or even in the whole world.
Before the Seer could continue, a young boy leaned forward eagerly, cutting him off.
Young boy: Really? How much gold is there? Like… I heard it’s kept in a big building somewhere? With guards and everything?
The children laughed, and the Seer turned his head slowly toward the boy, his smile never leaving.
Seer: No one really knows how much gold there is. But I can tell you this: it is a very tiny sum compared to many other things in the world.
The Seer pinched his fingers together, showing just how small a thing it was.
Seer: Gold is rare — there isn’t much of it in the world. And its rarity is part of what makes it special. If it were everywhere, it might not be valuable at all. It would be like the air we breathe, or the earth we walk on.
He bent down, scooping a small handful of dirt, letting the grains slip slowly through his fingers.
Seer: See this dirt here? We walk on it every day. But do you ever see people trading dirt for anything?
The children burst into giggles.
Young girl: No, never!
Child: Well… actually, one time my big brother tried to trade me a bag of rocks for my sled.
Young girl (turning to the child): Really?
Child: Yeah! But he lied. He said the bag had a lot of money in it. He was trying to trick me again — but I didn’t fall for it.
The children roared with laughter. The Seer laughed too, a deep belly laugh like a jolly grandfather.
Seer (smiling): He sure did try to trick you. He’s like a little Raven, isn’t he? A real trickster. But he’ll grow out of it. And you’ll remember these funny times.
The Seer’s laughter faded. He paused, gazing up at the night sky as the fire crackled.
Seer: This reminds me of another trickster… perhaps the first trickster to come from another world.
Child: Who?!
Seer: He was a very tricky fellow.
Child (eyes wide): Who? Who?
The Seer bowed his head, as if remembering a sorrow long carried.
Seer: Christopher Columbus.
All the children’s eyes widened. One boy smirked, breaking the tension.
Young boy: Well… that took a turn.
The children collapsed into laughter again, covering their mouths to stifle their giggles. The fire crackled on.
The young girl spoke up, her voice firm.
Young girl: Yeah… my father hates that man. He says Columbus did a lot of bad things to our people. Is that true?
Seer (pausing, thoughtful): Well, he did many things that today we would consider morally wrong. But… let me tell you something interesting.
The Seer lifted a hand to his mouth, coughed softly, then reached for a cup of spruce-gum tea, still warm by his side. He shuffled his seat closer to the fire, the glow flickering across his face.
Seer (raising his arms wide): Gather around, children. Gather close. I’m going to tell you a story — a very true story, straight from Christopher Columbus’s own words.
Child: What? What do you mean?
Seer: Well, not his mouth exactly — but his hand. He kept a journal of his voyage.
Child (eyes wide, interrupting): Really?
Seer: Yes. His own book, about himself and his first voyage across the ocean — to this land, our home.
Young boy (grinning, calling out): Okay, that’s cool. Hey, everyone! Come quick! We’re about to hear a story about Columbus — it’s starting now! Get your seats!
The Seer laughed, his belly shaking like a drum.
Seer: Well, I guess the pressure is on. I’d better make this a good one.
Young girl (smiling): Don’t worry. We love your stories. They’re always great.
Young boy: Exciting!
One by one, the children shuffled closer, blankets tugged around shoulders, stuffed animals clutched tight. They formed a wide circle around the fire. Seeing this, the adults and teenagers at the feast began to drift over, curious. The Seer’s stories were well known; some had changed lives. A few teenagers waved others to join, and soon they too found spots — cross-legged, hugging knees, leaning forward with eager eyes.
The Seer cleared his throat. The chatter hushed. For a moment the fire’s crackle was the only sound. His eyes seemed to darken, or perhaps it was only the shifting shadows. The air grew heavier, ominous.
Seer (in a deeper voice): This is a story about Columbus… and gold.
The flames bent low as if listening. The Seer’s voice carried low and steady.
Seer: Before the Europeans came to the gold… the gold came to them.
The Beginning—Winter, 1492
Seer: It was winter when the great ships first arrived. A day much like this one — cold December, when the people of the land were feasting. Some were dancing, some were not, but joy filled the air. Though the wind bit at their cheeks, their hearts were warm — as ours are tonight.
Then came the strangers, from across the sea.
The Seer’s voice grew deeper, slower.
Seer: They wore armor like beetles, their eyes filled with questions, and their ships heavy with trinkets. One of them — the leader, the one we know as Christopher Columbus — stepped off the boat.
Child (blurting out): Was he a king?
Young girl (putting a finger to her lips): Shhh, he’s telling the story.
Child (grumbling): I was just asking…
Seer (smiling): That’s all right. It’s always good to ask questions — that’s how we learn. To answer: no, he wasn’t a king. But he liked to walk like one. And like many kings, he dreamed of conquest and power. His mind was not full of joy, or helping, or serving, or the meaning of life. His mind glittered with illusions of gold.
The Seer turned toward the fire, the flames reflected in his eyes.
Seer: According to Columbus’s own journal, our people welcomed them with kindness. For kindness has always been our nature. We gave food, water, seeds, gifts — and of course, our songs and our laughter. We were happy then.
The Seer’s smile faded, his tone deepening again.
Seer: Columbus hadn’t expected to find us. He wasn’t looking for us at all. He was searching for India — and got lost. That is how many discoveries happen: by accident. But I wish, for our sake, that he had not lost his way. Had he found India, perhaps our history would have been more peaceful.
Young boy (calling out): Or maybe it could’ve been worse.
Seer (smirking): My boy, I don’t see how it could have been worse… but you’re right, we’re wandering off. Let us not dwell on all the bad. Tonight we’ll focus on the trading — the first exchange between our people and the strangers.
He took a sip of spruce-gum tea, letting the warmth settle in his chest. The circle leaned closer as he looked up to the night sky.
Seer: Where was I? Ah, yes. Columbus did not carry much to trade. But he carried things our people found wondrous: beads of colored glass, broken pieces of pottery, a few cooking wares, and trinkets of iron. He kept the weapons for himself — at least for the time being. But our people loved the beads. And in return… we gave him gold.
Young boy (eyes wide): No way! Gold for beads?!
Seer (nodding slowly): Yes… gold for beads. And the reason is simple: we had no use for gold. We had not made it into money, and it was everywhere. But remember what I said — when something is rare, it becomes valuable. For us, the glass beads Columbus brought were rare. They sparkled with colors we had never seen before, and so we treasured them. And in exchange, we gave him gold. This is a true story.
Around the fire, mouths dropped open. Young faces stared in disbelief, eyes wide as the truth sank in.
Seer (nodding again, his voice steady): Yes, it’s true. Our people traded gold for beads, for bells, and for other small trinkets. And not because we misunderstood gold — but because we understood welcome. We gave freely what glittered in our rivers and adorned our ears — not out of foolishness, but because we had never built prisons of worth around it. Gold was never our master — it was only the earth’s adornment.
Discovery and Wonder
Flames flickered across wide eyes as the children leaned in, blurting questions, giggling when the fire popped like punctuation.
One child shuffled closer to the fire, eyes wide in wonder.
Child: Why did they want the yellow stone so much?
Young girl (snapping back): Weren’t you paying attention? Columbus wanted power. And he believed gold would give it to him.
Child (frowning): But it doesn’t feed you… and it doesn’t make you laugh.
Seer: True. But it fed something inside those strangers that was always hungry.
Young boy (tilting his head): What do you mean? Did they eat the gold?
The Seer chuckled, shaking his head.
Seer: No, no, no… that would have made them sick. Their hunger was for power, reputation, happiness, pleasure, respect. And they believed — as many still do today — that gold was the key.
The young child thought for a moment, her brow furrowed. Then her face lit up with a smile.
Child: Well… my sister gave me some bells that sing in the wind, and I like them very much. I love my sister a lot. To me, that’s very valuable.
Young boy (blurting out): What?! That doesn’t make sense.
The Seer raised his hand, quieting the circle.
Seer: It makes sense. You see value lives in the eye of the beholder. It sounds like those bells — and your sister’s love — are worth more to you than all the gold in the world. What something is worth depends on who’s holding it close.
The child rolled her eyes with mock impatience.
Child: Obviously!
The children burst into laughter, and the Seer joined in, his laughter warm and deep as the fire itself.
Young girl (smirking): Well, not to Columbus. He seemed much happier with gold.
Seer: That is true. The Spaniards thought they were getting a great deal. And perhaps our people thought the same. But tell me… was it really a fair exchange?
The Seer’s eyes swept the circle. No one answered. The fire cracked in the silence.
Seer: Let me put it another way. Columbus and his crew were astonished at how eagerly our people traded gold for what seemed to them small things — glass beads, shiny bells. With a few beads, he gained what in his land would have cost a king’s ransom.
The children sat still, focused like students in a classroom, unsure what to say.
Seer: But here is what Columbus did not understand. He was not buying gold. He was being welcomed to our land as a guest. Our people were not merchants. Our people were hosts.
Young boy: Really? Did he ever say thank you for all that gold? How much was there? I heard he stole it!
The Seer turned to him, his gaze steady.
Seer: No. I do not believe he ever formally said thank you, or even acknowledged that he was a guest here. In fact, he overstayed his welcome and became a very poor guest indeed. His people put their feet up, so to speak — and still today act as if they own the place.
The Seer paused, eyes on the fire, then looked back at the boy.
Seer: Yes, it is true. He stole from our people. He did many bad things. And yet… some of our people also chose to exchange with him — freely.
The Seer let the last word fall into the night air. The circle was hushed, the fire popping softly.
Seer: Both are true. We were peaceful. We welcomed him. We fed him, housed him, helped him. Our people even saved his life, and the lives of his crew.
Young boy (shaking his head): No way!
Seer (nodding): Yes way.
He leaned forward, his voice lower, steady.
Seer: You see, our people gave as hosts do — open-handed. But Columbus came as a guest who only counted what he could carry away.
The circle was silent for a moment, the weight of his words pressing in. Then the Seer’s face softened into a small smile.
Seer: And it is true. He was shipwrecked. Soon after he loaded his ship with gold… it crashed.
Young boy (eyes wide): You mean with all the gold in it? Did it sink?
Young girl (interjecting): You mean the gold he got from us?
Child: Really?!
Seer (smiling, as if holding a secret): Yes. His ship sank — but we rescued him, his men, and even the gold.
Young boy (in disbelief): No way. I don’t believe it. My father said we fought him.
Seer: That is true… eventually we did. But in our first encounter, our people were more interested in treating him with kindness. That is what we valued.
Child: Can you tell us how the ship crashed?
Seer (looking kindly at the child): Of course. Columbus himself wrote about it in his journal.
Christmas Eve, 1492— The Night the Ship Sank
Seer: On Christmas Eve, Columbus set sail from our shores. He was sleeping on his ship, perhaps exhausted from celebrating the gold they had found, perhaps dreaming of riches yet to come — counting his chickens before they hatched, as the saying goes.
The Seer paused, sipping his spruce-gum tea.
Seer: But remember what your elders have always said: the sea does not dream. The sea is always awake.
The Seer let the silence hang before continuing.
Seer: That night, Columbus slept. The sea was calm, so perhaps he felt safe. But the sailor who should have been at the wheel chose to sleep as well — maybe from exhaustion, maybe from too much celebrating. And so, he handed the helm to a boy. Columbus had strictly forbidden it. The boy was only fourteen or fifteen.
Young boy (stumbling over his words, eyes wide): Wow… I’m thirteen. That boy… wow, that’s so cool.
Young girl (hissing): Shhh!
Young boy: You shhh yourself!
The Seer chuckled, raising his hands.
Seer: All right, all right — let me steer this story.
The children giggled, settling down.
Seer: So, the boy — about your age — now guided a ship heavy with wealth and gold. And around midnight… as Columbus slept, the ship struck a reef.
Turning Point — The Shipwreck
The Seer clapped his hands — CRASH!
Sparks leapt into the air, the fire flared with sudden violence. The children jumped as though the reef itself had split beneath them.
Seer: Crash! Bang!
The children gasped, clutching blankets and dolls.
Seer: Water rushed in at once. It was sudden.
He cupped his hands to his mouth like a blowhorn.
Seer: “Abandon ship! Abandon ship!” Columbus leapt to his feet — but it was too late. The beams cracked. The hull groaned. The ship tilted, water pouring in.
The children sat frozen, eyes wide, some with hands over their mouths.
Seer (his eyes widening for effect): The crash was so loud it carried for miles — the screech of wood grinding against reef, the thud of dreams splintering apart. The crew scrambled, grabbing for gold, leaping into the sea in panic.
He let the silence deepen, the firelight flickering over his face.
Seer: The ship, proud and heavy with greedy dreams, began to drown. And it did not drown only in the sea… it drowned in its own hunger for gold.
The words settled like embers in the circle. Some children held their breath, their eyes wide, their dolls clutched tight.
Child (whispering, hugging her doll): Did anyone die in that shipwreck?
Seer: No, I don’t believe anyone died. According to Columbus’s journal, he and his men made it to shore. And our people rushed to their rescue. Canoes glided over the silver water, hands reaching to save who they could. The same hands that had given gold now stretched out to save the strangers.
Young girl: I guess that’s a good thing… maybe. Was Columbus grateful that no one died?
Seer: He may have been. But when he stood on the shore, watching his ship sink, he began to cry — not for the ship, but because he thought he had lost the gold. At least, that’s what he wrote.
Young girl: He must have been so upset.
Young boy: Yeah! Think about it — one day he’s super rich, the next day he’s got nothing. I’d cry too.
The Seer raised his brows in surprise.
Seer: Really? You would cry? And why is that?
Young boy: Well… he was so rich, and then he thought he lost everything.
Seer: I see. But did he really lose everything?
Young boy: Of course — he lost all that gold.
Seer: Hmm. Let’s think about it from the perspective of our people, the ones who rescued him. Do you think our people cried over gold back then?
The boy hesitated, shrugging his shoulders.
Young boy: Ahhh… I dunno.
Seer (gently): What do you think our people would have cried over?
Young girl: Someone dying. Everyone cries over that.
Seer (smiling): An excellent answer. No matter where you are from — here, or across the sea — people grieve death. This is something we all share, even with strangers.
The Seer’s voice trailed off into the crackle of the fire. The children shifted on their blankets, some leaning closer, their wide eyes reflecting the flames. For a moment, even the older teens in the back were still, as if the weight of the words pressed against the night air.
Seer: People react to shipwrecks differently. When we believe we’ve lost something, it can make us weep. For Columbus, the thought of losing gold — and with it, the future power and wealth it promised — was heavier than the relief that no lives had been lost.
The Seer’s voice deepened, gentle, like a sermon.
Seer: Sometimes the pain of losing feels a hundred times stronger than the joy of gaining. Even though Columbus and his men had their lives, he could not see it that way. But he was lucky — our people were kind.
The Seer set his cup of spruce-gum tea down on the ground beside him, leaned forward, and glanced slowly around the circle, letting the silence grow. The fire popped, sending a small spray of sparks upward into the cold December sky.
Seer: He may, for a moment, have seen that true wealth was not in gold… but in kindness.
Seer: Our Chief sent canoes to rescue the ship’s cargo and our people gave sufficient manpower, and even two large houses to store the gold safely — with an offer of more, if needed. All without asking for a morsel of payment. Why? Because that is what good hosts — and good humans — do.
He let the words sink in, then spoke with quiet finality.
Seer: Yes, our people saved the gold, every last piece, and kept it safe for Columbus. He was astonished we never tried to steal it. Through his tears, he wrote of us in his journal:
“All the Indians are people of love and without greed, suitable for every purpose. In all the world, there are no better people, nor better country. They love their neighbors as themselves and have the sweetest talk in the world — gentle, always with a smile. Even though they go about as naked as their mothers bore them, they maintain very good manners. The people exercised such admirable self-restraint that it was a pleasure to see.”
The Seer shifted in his seat, feeding new wood into the fire. Sparks jumped, the flames catching strong again.
The Seer’s voice softened, his eyes reflecting the firelight.
Seer: And our people’s kindness did not end there. From time to time, our Chief sent a relative to console the weeping Columbus, assuring him he must not be troubled, that he should not be afraid. The Chief told him he would give whatever he had to help him. And soon, the two leaders dined together.
The Seer sipped his spruce-gum tea, then set it gently on the ground. The fire popped as if to punctuate his words.
Seer: Perhaps it was the shock of the shipwreck… perhaps the wine… perhaps the emotion of Christmas. Columbus kept weeping. But this time, maybe, it was with gratitude and relief rather than sorrow for his lost gold.
The Seer leaned closer to the flames. Sparks rose into the dark sky.
Seer: As the sun rose the next day over the wreck, Columbus wrote that not even in Europe would he have been treated more safely or more kindly than on our land.
The Seer paused. The fire had burned low, its wood collapsing into glowing coals. The night grew colder, the shadows sharper. His eyes glistened, and in the flicker of the flames it looked as though a tear was forming.
Greed & Betrayal
The fire dims, as if listening, the night air colder against their backs.
Seer (his voice catching): But… the kindness did not last. Columbus’s heart shifted back to the dark. The pull of gold was too strong.
He stopped, drawing a long, heavy breath. The circle was silent. The children sat forward, their faces glowing orange in the dimming fire.
Seer (resigned, almost whispering): Even as he dried his tears, even as he dined with his rescuers, Columbus began to scheme. He thought of how to salvage his trip, his honor. Even after our people gave him gold, even after we saved his life, he could not stop scheming.
The Seer sighed, shaking his head slowly.
Seer: He wanted more gold. And he began to see our kindness not as generosity, but as a tool for his own gain. He imagined that we might be loyal enough to bring him more.
The Seer lowered his voice, imitating Columbus’s whisper, sending a shiver through the circle.
Seer: “They would make good servants,” he said to himself. “They are loyal, kind, strong. They could bring me gold.”
The Seer shook his head in disapproval. Around the fire, the children recoiled slightly, their eyes wide, their bodies leaning back as if pushed away by the words.
Seer: Perhaps he mistook our kindness for weakness. Perhaps he thought we were auditioning to be slaves. In his mind, he reduced us to nothing more than a means to his end.
One boy broke the silence, almost triumphant.
Young boy: See! I told you. My father was right… he was a bad guy.
The Seer nodded gravely, his face lit by the low red coals.
Seer: For a long time, he kept his plan to himself and his men.
Young girl (leaning forward eagerly): And then what happened?!
Seer: Well… Columbus gave more trinkets to our people — beads, bells — and in return, our people and others gave more gold.
The Seer’s voice trailed off. He stretched his legs, rising slowly to his feet. He reached for his jacket on the bench. The fire dimmed, its flames curling low, as though holding its breath. The children’s eyes followed him, their faces tense, as if the story might be over. He shook out the jacket as though preparing to leave.
Child (blurting out, anxious): And then what happened? Is that it? Is the story done?!
The Seer paused, still standing, the jacket draped in his hand. The fire hissed and spat a single ember into the dark.
Seer: No, my child… that is not the end. The story continues. It never ended. We are still living it today.
He drew out the words, letting the silence settle heavy in the circle. The flames steadied, glowing a deeper red. The children sat frozen, waiting. One boy broke it:
Young boy: What do you mean?!
Young girl (puzzled): Yeah… what do you mean?
The Seer smiled faintly. He slipped his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket. The children leaned closer, whispering, curious. He pulled something out, then set the jacket aside on the bench. His fist was closed tight around the object. Slowly, he walked back to the fire. The flames licked higher, throwing fresh light across his face. The children’s excitement grew, their whispers hushed as they leaned forward, eager for the reveal.
The Seer sat down again. He opened his hand. In his palm lay three green glass beads. Against the firelight they shimmered, shifting from sea-green to deep emerald, its colors flowing like water itself. The fire glowed steady, as if cradling them secret in its light.
Young girl (in awe): What is that?
Seer: This… is what we received for giving away our gold — but not our freedom or future.
Moral Reflection
The fire steadies, its warmth returning to the circle.
The seer paused, turning the beads slowly in his fingers.
Seer: Here is the point: some people celebrate their hunger for gold, while others celebrate generosity. Gold makes some cruel, and others kind. It can wound, it can heal, it can bind. To one it is treasure. To another, nothing at all — worth only as much as this small bead in my hand.
Young boy (frowning, confused): I don’t get it. Gold is worth a lot more than those green beads.
The Seer tilted his head, looking at the boy with gentle puzzlement.
Young boy: I mean… who’s right? Our people, who gave away the gold — or the strangers, who took it?
The Seer did not answer at once. He gazed into the fire, watching the flames curl low. Then he turned, his eyes steady on the boy.
Seer: What do you value?
Young boy: That’s easy — my family. My drum. The sunny skies… a whole bunch of things.
Seer (nodding): Then that is the answer. What you value is what you live for.
Closing
The fire sank to glowing embers, soft and steady, like wisdom smoldering in their hearts. The Seer’s voice grew deeper, slower, carrying the weight of a final truth.
Seer: What you value shapes the path you walk. And what you live for may one day be left behind. So choose to value what endures—love, moments of wonder, the quiet growth of the soul, the discoveries no one can take from you.
The fire cracked sharply, as if in applause. The circle was quiet. That night, some dreamed of ships. Some dreamed of shiny beads. And some dreamed of a world where giving is greater than gold.
By morning the fire was ash, but the question lingered — drifting from lips to ears, whispering: What do we truly value?
