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At Princeton’s Bac­calau­re­ate cer­e­mony this week Ama­zon CEO and founder Jeff Bezos spoke to the Class of 2010 about the dif­fer­ence between choices and gifts.

Clev­er­ness, Bezos pointed out, is a gift, while being kind to oth­ers is a choice. One’s char­ac­ter, he sug­gested, is reflected not in the gifts one is endowed with at birth but rather by the choices one makes over the course of a lifetime.

Bezos illus­trated his point with a mov­ing story from his child­hood — a story so beau­ti­fully told that it defies sum­ma­riz­ing; thus EQN reprints it here verbatim:

As a kid, I spent my sum­mers with my grand­par­ents on their ranch in Texas. I helped fix wind­mills, vac­ci­nate cat­tle, and do other chores. We also watched soap operas every after­noon, espe­cially “Days of our Lives.” My grand­par­ents belonged to a Car­a­van Club, a group of Airstream trailer own­ers who travel together around the U.S. and Canada. And every few sum­mers, we’d join the car­a­van. We’d hitch up the Airstream trailer to my grandfather’s car, and off we’d go, in a line with 300 other Airstream adven­tur­ers. I loved and wor­shiped my grand­par­ents and I really looked for­ward to these trips. On one par­tic­u­lar trip, I was about 10 years old. I was rolling around in the big bench seat in the back of the car. My grand­fa­ther was dri­ving. And my grand­mother had the pas­sen­ger seat. She smoked through­out these trips, and I hated the smell.

At that age, I’d take any excuse to make esti­mates and do minor arith­metic. I’d cal­cu­late our gas mileage — fig­ure out use­less sta­tis­tics on things like gro­cery spend­ing. I’d been hear­ing an ad cam­paign about smok­ing. I can’t remem­ber the details, but basi­cally the ad said, every puff of a cig­a­rette takes some num­ber of min­utes off of your life: I think it might have been two min­utes per puff. At any rate, I decided to do the math for my grand­mother. I esti­mated the num­ber of cig­a­rettes per days, esti­mated the num­ber of puffs per cig­a­rette and so on. When I was sat­is­fied that I’d come up with a rea­son­able num­ber, I poked my head into the front of the car, tapped my grand­mother on the shoul­der, and proudly pro­claimed, “At two min­utes per puff, you’ve taken nine years off your life!”

I have a vivid mem­ory of what hap­pened, and it was not what I expected. I expected to be applauded for my clev­er­ness and arith­metic skills. “Jeff, you’re so smart. You had to have made some tricky esti­mates, fig­ure out the num­ber of min­utes in a year and do some divi­sion.” That’s not what hap­pened. Instead, my grand­mother burst into tears. I sat in the back­seat and did not know what to do. While my grand­mother sat cry­ing, my grand­fa­ther, who had been dri­ving in silence, pulled over onto the shoul­der of the high­way. He got out of the car and came around and opened my door and waited for me to fol­low. Was I in trou­ble? My grand­fa­ther was a highly intel­li­gent, quiet man. He had never said a harsh word to me, and maybe this was to be the first time? Or maybe he would ask that I get back in the car and apol­o­gize to my grand­mother. I had no expe­ri­ence in this realm with my grand­par­ents and no way to gauge what the con­se­quences might be. We stopped beside the trailer. My grand­fa­ther looked at me, and after a bit of silence, he gen­tly and calmly said, “Jeff, one day you’ll under­stand that it’s harder to be kind than clever.”

For more Bezos, who grad­u­ated from Prince­ton Engi­neer­ing in ’86, read this LA Times blog entry or watch this video por­trait.

Photo by Denise Applewhite