“There are only two lasting bequests we can hope to give to our children. One of these is roots, the other, wings.” – Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

The 7 Best Gifts We Gave Our Children

There is a view of parenting that advocates giving our children every advantage possible in order to accelerate their development and increase their chances of having happy and successful lives.

There is another view that is about protecting our children from hardship and danger. 

There is still another view about giving our children the privileges and luxuries that we didn’t enjoy as children.

And there are parenting professionals out there supporting one or several of these notions. The secret to raising wonderful children, they aver, is to protect them from adversity and to give them everything possible to make their lives fuller, easier, richer, and happier. 

And by “everything,” they are talking not just about material possessions but also about such things as freedom, friendship, dignity, comfort, security, and the all-time favorite: unconditional love.

These were not the ideas that K and I embraced in our parenting. 

Our childrearing was based on a different philosophy: leaving the road before them pot-holed and bumpy, and allowing them to experience all the difficulties and challenges we ourselves had faced. 

Judging by the results of our experiment and those of our coevals that embraced the more widely held parenting philosophies, I’m glad we did what we did. Because our boys turned out to be people we both like and admire.

Here are the ”advantages” we gave to our children:

1. The Experience of Relative Poverty

K and I grew up in working-class neighborhoods. The low end. We felt the usual level of embarrassment that working-class kids feel about all the things they don’t have. Like new clothes. And lunchboxes (vs. paper bags). And spending money. When our children were young, we provided them with those same embarrassments. And when they were old enough to drive, we didn’t buy them cars, as some parents did. If they wanted a car, they could pay for it with the money they earned after school. So they drove the sort of cars we drove when we were in high school: junkers. (I still fondly remember watching Number One Son scrubbing the torn plastic seating of his 20-year-old pickup truck before his first date.) 

2. Second-Class Status

We grew up in families that had double standards. And we imposed those double standards on our boys. Parents had privileges that children were denied. Children had rules that parents were exempt from. Until our boys were old enough to leave home and fend for themselves, they had to accept their position as second-class family members. We could eat what we wanted. They could not. We could go to bed when we wanted to. They went to bed when we told them to. As they got older, we gradually gave them more autonomy – but only if they earned it by acting like responsible adults. The bottom line was always an absolute: We were the parents. They were the kids. Our family was not a democracy. And they were not our equals.

3. Insecurity

When you grow up as K and I did, you become instinctively insecure. You recognize that sometimes things roll your way. Sometimes the world eats you for lunch. C’est la vie, we explained to our kids. We did not then and do not now view insecurity as a bad thing. We saw it as necessary for survival in the real world. We made sure our boys understood that they were guaranteed nothing. That anything they got must be earned. And that there were dangers lurking that we could not protect them from – some of them inescapable. They needed to understand that life is tough, and if they wanted to succeed, they had to learn to overcome obstacles. Again and again.

4. Deprivations

Our children were not free to do what they wanted. We (mostly K, to her credit) put restrictions on just about everything they enjoyed – from watching TV to playing video games to hanging out with their friends to going out on weekends when they were in high school. We knew that they would push whatever boundaries we set, and so we made those boundaries very firm.

5. Disapproval

Like most parents, we wanted our children to succeed in their work – as students and in their extracurricular activities. We never made them feel that we expected them to excel at anything in particular, but we made it clear that we expected them to approach everything they did in earnest. When they did, we rewarded them with well-earned praise. When they did not, they got what they knew they deserved: our disapproval.

6. Punishment

K was a big believer in reasonable but consistent sanctions for undesirable behavior, which included speaking disrespectfully to adults and treating their peers unkindly. Our boys’ behavior mattered to us. Their manners mattered, too. So we used punishment for the bad as well as praise for the good to raise our children. 

7. Conditional Love

Where did it come from – the idea that unconditional love is a good thing? The meaning is patently bad. How does it do either party – the lover or the beloved – any good? It makes a masochist of the one and a solipsist of the other. 

Parental love that is unconditional is irresponsible. It is the act of yielding when withholding is called for. It says: You can do whatever you want. When people say they love their children unconditionally, they actually mean that they refuse to take on the responsibility of doing the tough things that a parent must do to raise a responsible, affable, and admirable human being.

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”There is a difference between listening and waiting for your turn to speak.” – Simon Sinek

Why I Wasn’t “Loyal” to My Broker

I called my broker but was connected to someone I didn’t know. She told me my broker was “no longer with the company.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“He’s just not with us anymore.

“So why wasn’t I told?”

“We were just about to notify you.”

That concerned me. I had open trades that needed managing. What if something fell through the cracks?

A few days later, I was visited by the branch manager and a young man who was to be my old broker’s replacement. The manager apologized for not notifying me immediately, explaining that the situation was “difficult and personal,” and then assured me that my account was being tended to properly.

That was half the reason for their visit. The other half was to convince me to keep my money with them.

Investment firms generally prohibit their brokers from trying to take their “book” of clients with them when they move to another firm. But it’s hard to do that when the broker-client relationship is a longstanding and trusted one.

When a broker leaves a brokerage, the house initiates a “retention” protocol that involves routine efforts to persuade the broker’s clients to stay with the firm. But when a departed broker leaves a “book” of “whales,” the protocol is more like a cold war, with each side doing everything they can legally do to grab or retain as many of the big fish as they can.

I knew that. And I suspected that my broker had been legally restrained from contacting me while he was still with his old firm or shortly thereafter, which accounted for my being in the dark. I expected he would contact me soon, and about a week later he did.

But by that time, I had already decided to keep my money with the brokerage.

Why I did that is the subject of this essay.

My broker was a bright person. He knew the markets. He understood the game. And, as a top earner in his office, he had proven himself to be a superb salesman. But what was important to me was that I trusted him to do a good job. And that meant helping me make buy-and-sell decisions based on my insights and my temperament, not on his inclinations or the directions of the firm.

But there was one little thing about him that always irked me. He had a tendency to talk when I wanted him to listen.

I’d call him up to ask a specific question about some of my bonds. His answer would come in a rush of statements replete with data I could not verify and financial terminology I did not completely understand.

When I’d attempt to interrupt him for clarification, he would talk over me. He didn’t do it rudely. Had he been rude, I would have ended the relationship immediately. He seemed to be motivated more by his excitement about the investment. Every so often, I would ask him, politely, to slow down and listen to me. He’d apologize profusely, but it was a habit he couldn’t break. And it was annoying. But I wrote it off as a peccadillo.

I believed then and I still do that in his mind he had my best interests at heart. And since my accounts were growing at the time, he had good reason to feel that way.

But then one day I received a notice saying that I had bought shares of an IPO. It was a digital business that was all promise but no performance. Exactly the kind of company that, had he ever actually listened to me, he would know I would never buy. Why had he done this?

I called him, and he told me that my son, who also had an account with him, had asked him to buy some of the shares for him. It wasn’t easy to get shares of this company’s IPO at the time, but he gave some to my son and he gave some to me. He said he was doing me a favor.

I believed him. I was, after all, one of his bigger clients. If he had a stash of these hard-to-get shares, he’d be smart to distribute them to clients like me. But it bothered me that he had gone ahead, without asking me first, and spent my money on a business whose P/E ratio was about 100 to 1.

For all his many good qualities – and they were numerous – he wasn’t a good listener. And his poor listening skills were a problem for two reasons:

* He wasn’t good at teaching me about the technical side of investing because he didn’t listen to my questions.

* He never really understood my core investing philosophy – the principles I live by because they have worked so well for me in my wealth-building career.

Those thoughts were in the back of my mind when I was visited by the branch manager of the brokerage and the young man – Dominick – who was going to be handling my account “if” I decided to leave it with them.

After the introductions and pleasantries were over, the manager presented Dominick’s credentials, which were solid.

I was a bit worried about his youth. He looked to be in his early to mid thirties. But my worries were diminished almost entirely when he began speaking.

The first thing he said to me was something like, “Mr. Ford, I’ve been studying your accounts and their history. I know where your portfolio is right now. What I’d like to know is where you want to go with it. And what else I could do to make you happy with me as your broker.”

Wow! That was a very good opening. He was young but he was saying all the right things. He had the initiative to have studied my accounts before we met and he had no intention of telling me what to do. He wanted me to tell him how he could help me.

This, in my view, is the right relationship to have with your broker. You are the owner of your wealth, not your broker. You pay him. He works for you. You are his boss. He should treat you like his boss.

You may be thinking, “Gee, I don’t want to be my broker’s boss. He’s the guy that knows about investing. And he has much bigger clients than me. I certainly don’t want to insult him by bossing him around when he knows and I know that I don’t know what I’m doing.”

If that’s the way you think about your broker, you need to change things. And fast.

It doesn’t matter that you know less about stocks and bonds than he does. It doesn’t matter that you feel like a small fry because you don’t have 10 million bucks in your account. It doesn’t matter if all your questions feel “stupid.” If you aren’t the boss of that relationship, you are in trouble.

In the weeks that followed, Dominick was in touch with me at least twice a week.

We reviewed my entire portfolio, made key changes to restructure it in accordance with my asset allocation preferences, and agreed on buying and selling parameters so we could work more fluidly in the future.

As the months passed, I felt better and better about my decision to say goodbye to my old broker and work with Dominick. It wasn’t that I felt Dominick had better insights or even better intentions than my old broker. It was that he was going to let me be in charge of how my money was being invested.

It may seem strange, but after so many years of being in the financial information business, I still felt insecure about investing. I felt confident in my core ideas. I was definitely a conservative investor. But because I did not have the detailed understanding of specific investment strategies that brokers have, I often found myself deferring to them when my gut was saying “Don’t do it.”

If I, as someone that’s been in and around the financial industry for 30 years, can feel that way, I can only imagine the pressure someone else – who hasn’t had my experience or success – must feel when being pitched.

If you’ve ever felt like that, this story was for you. And the takeaway is this: You have to be in charge of your relationship with anyone that is handling your money. That includes stock and bond brokers, life insurance agents, financial advisors, estate planners, and even your tax attorney.

Don’t allow them to intimidate you. Don’t feel embarrassed when you don’t understand what they are saying. Say, “Stop right there and say that again, but without all the gibberish. If you aren’t able to explain it to me clearly, I will have to find someone who can.”

And if that’s not enough, remind them that you are the person paying their fees. You are the boss. Their job is not just to give you good advice and execute your wishes, but to make sure that they understand your preferences and follow them. And that they never, ever make you feel like you have to shut up and defer to them.

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“Not voting is not a protest. It is a surrender.” – Keith Ellison

How to Vote If You Consider Yourself an Independent Thinker 

Most of the people I know have locked down on certain slogans that parade themselves not just as ideas but as full-blown ideological philosophies. Make America Great Again, Systemic Racism, Right to Life, Right of Choice, Black Lives Matter, the Green New Deal. And they vote on their adherence to those slogans. For them, the decision between Trump and Biden is black and white.

The pollsters know who those people are. They represent the vast majority of the population. But it will be the independently minded voters that will likely determine this election.

From The Washington Post:  Olivia Troye, who was part of the coronavirus task force, said recently that in her view the president has a “flat out disregard for human life.” Trump’s main concern, she said, “was the economy and his reelection.”

We weren’t at those meetings, so we have no way to judge her first characterization. But let’s assume that she’s right about the second and the third. (I’ve seen enough of his public statements to believe it.)

I am good with his concern for the economy. I think that should be our president’s primary concern in this regard. (We can talk more about this later.)

As to his single-minded desire to get reelected, why should that surprise anyone? For Trump, the political experience is a game of winning. That’s how he approached business. That’s how he frames all his ideas, appeals, and promises. In the entire population of our elected representatives, I can think of only one in my lifetime that was different. Ron Paul.

The nature of politics is about power. And the means to power is getting elected. People that want to become politicians want to play that game, which means they are essentially untrustworthy.

Which means: We shouldn’t vote for politicians based on what they say, but what they do. That’s a statement most people would ordinarily agree to.

But here’s the problem: That’s too difficult for most people. We are too busy with our quotidian lives to pay attention to the dozens of issues that are researched, discussed, and debated every day in the oval office or in the halls of the Senate or the Congress. And that is just at the national level. State and local government is just as complicated.

Since we can’t possibly understand particular issues well enough to make informed decisions about them, we do the next best thing. We elect politicians to represent our general sentiments about what kind of world we want to live in and give them the responsibility to do all the analysis and thinking.

Of course, they don’t have time for that sort of work either. They are too busy meeting with their supporters, raising funds, and campaigning to do any serious analysis of the problems. Studies have shown that most senators and representatives read only the equivalent of executive reports on the bills they are responsible for deciding.

That’s why, for me, the rule is:

* Assume that all politicians are not only willing to misrepresent their thoughts and feelings, but are actually very good at it.

* Assume that when it’s election time, politicians have no problem with prevarication, misdirection, and, if needed, outright lying about what they actually believe, think, and do.

* Pay zero attention to what candidates say during their campaigns.

* Spend what little time you have to finding out what they have actually done in the past. What actions they took in office. And how those actions tie into your idea of the world you want to live in.

If I were to decide between Trump and Biden based on what they are saying right now, I’d stay home and watch old movies on Election Day. Half of what they are saying I don’t believe because it contradicts what they actually did when they had power. And the other half sounds either senile or insane. (Take your pick.)

But when I look at what they have done – what Trump has done as president and Biden did over 47 years as a politician – the choice between them is not so very clear. To make my decision, I’m going to have to spend some time researching what they’ve actually done and then think about it.

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 “Life is long. Success is difficult. Passion is fleeting.” – Michael Masterson

Why “Profiting From Your Passion” May Be a Big Mistake

When I first retired at 39, I bought a half-interest in an art gallery, believing it would be the perfect hobby-like, retirement occupation. I pictured myself sitting amidst beautiful paintings, reading interesting books, and chatting with art lovers about Karel Appel and Jules Pascin.

Instead, I was thrust into a high-pressure selling situation. One in which my partner expected me to press friends and former colleagues into buying art. After six or seven months, I had to admit to myself that this experiment in mixing my love of art with the desire to profit from it had failed. So, I got out. It cost me a considerable sum of money, but it was worth it.

What I learned was that the job of running a business – even a “passion business” – is first and foremost about selling. And selling is always hard work.

It’s also mandatory and therefore ceaseless. If you are not continually finding new customers and reselling old ones, your business will shrink. A shrinking business is, of course, a dying business, and disappointing. But the death of a business you believed to be your life’s calling is downright depressing.

My fantasies about being a gallerist were shattered by the reality of having to constantly sell art. Not just to strangers, but to everyone I knew (one of my partner’s success secrets). All the things I loved about collecting art (as a hobby) were ground into mundanities by the application of them towards profit.

After a brief respite, I abandoned that retirement and went back into the business I had been in previously. But this time I told myself that I would change my idea about being in that business. It would no longer be about creating maximum profits, but about building a profitable business that I could be proud of.

Most of what I did on a day-to-day basis was the same. But I became more selective about the quality of our products and the satisfaction of our customers and less concerned about the bottom line.

The result was a surprisingly happy ending. I was able to enjoy the hours I spent working and – to my surprise – the business grew far beyond what it had been.

I can’t say for sure exactly why this happened. But I think one of the factors was that in my second go-round, I was constantly pushing to make all the Ps that make up a business better – the products, the protocols, the procedures, and the people. And my primary criterion for better wasn’t profit but something more personal. Something like, “If I make this change, will this improve the business in some way that I will like it more? In some way that will make me feel better about it? Prouder of what it is and is becoming?”

I don’t mean to imply this was a come-to-Jesus moment, that I returned to work as an entirely different person. It was much more subtle than that. I was still mostly about “ready, fire, aim.” I was still very much a pusher and a grower. And I still kept my eye on the bottom line. But I was no longer obsessed with growing profit. It was important to me – actually, mandatory. But I didn’t actually care whether we made 20%, 10%, or even 5%. I was secretly more interested in making the business into something that felt good to me.

The psychologist Jordan Peterson said that parents should raise their children to become the sort of adults they themselves would like and admire. This is sort of what I was doing – nudging the business along as it grew to become something I could like and admire.

I suppose you could say that with the gallery I tried and failed to convert my passion into profit, and with the business, I found a way to convert my profits into a passion.

For the Young and Still Hopeful…

A word to my younger readers: I’m not saying it’s impossible to turn your passion into a successful career.

I’m saying that, before you commit, you should think seriously about the fact that in trying to make a career of your passion there are four possible outcomes:

* You succeed and are happy in your success.

* You succeed but discover that success kills your passion.

* You fail and are emotionally defeated by your failure.

* You fail and are fine with your failing and move on to a happy life.

The most common advice you’ll hear from successful people about charting your career is, “Don’t walk towards it. Chase your dreams. Don’t listen to anyone that doubts you or warns you about the risk. Fly without a net.”

This advice is utter foolishness. It will not help you succeed. Nor will it make you happier if you do succeed.

Remember, generally speaking the people giving this advice are celebrities – the one in a thousand that were good enough and lucky enough to make a success of their passion. And they are usually dispensing this advice at award shows – where they are enthralled with their own wonderful selves.

Any parent or person of authority that would give such advice is either stupid or selfish or, more likely, both.

Here’s my advice: If you are young and have a particular passion, go for it. But do so only after you have mentally prepared yourself for the four possibilities listed above.

Start by identifying the psychological rewards your passion brings you now. Be honest and specific. Excitement? Engagement? Admiration? Validation?

Imagine yourself working relentlessly towards your goal, ignoring everything else in your life – friendships, family, marriage, even a bit of your self-respect. Would you be okay with that?

If your answer, “YES!,” imagine yourself 10 or 20 years into the future. You’ve achieved your goal. You have turned your passion into a profitable career. You have the status. You have the money. You have the validation you were looking for. But you’ve lost the excitement and the engagement. The work doesn’t fire you up anymore. Would you be okay with that?

Imagine, too, another scenario. Imagine that, after several of giving your all to making your passion profitable, you come to the realization that the prospects of success are approaching zero. Imagine that you look around and find an opportunity to start a different career – one that would almost certainly be profitable but for which you have no passion. Would you be able to make that change? Maybe with the idea that you could you put aside several hours a week to continue practicing your passion as a hobby? Would you be able to do that? Without second-guessing yourself?

Now imagine that while you are building your current career – a career that you had no passion for when you started – you begin to treat it like you are passionate about it. Imagine what you would do to convert it into something that would give you those feelings of excitement and engagement and admiration and validation that you now are hoping to get from your passion. How would that feel?

Imagine that after enjoying a profitable career that you found a passion for, and continuing to enjoy your current passion as a hobby, you retired from the first and spent your golden years engaged fully in the other.

How does that feel?

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