Rich Dad Poor Dad: The Rich Don't Work for Money | Billionaire Mentor

Chapter:1- The Rich Don't Work for Money:

The poor and middle class work for money.

 The rich have money for them.

"Dad, can you tell me how to get rich?"  My father put the evening paper down.  "Why do you want to be rich, son?"

"Because today Jimmy's mom stepped into her new Cadillac, and they were going to their beach house for the weekend. She took her three friends, but Mike and I were not called. They told that we poor kids.  Were because we were not invited.

"They did?"  My father asked incredulously.

"Yes, they did," I answered in a hurt tone.

My dad silently shook his head, pushed his glasses above the bridge of his nose, and went back to reading the paper.  I stood waiting for an answer.

The year was 1956.  I was nine years old.  With some twist of fate, I attended the same public school where rich people sent their children.  We were primarily a sugar-plantation town.  Plantation managers and other accomplished people, such as doctors, businessmen and bankers, sent their children to this primary school.  After grade six, their children were usually sent to private schools.  Because my family lived on one side street, I attended this school.

If I lived on the other side of the road, I would go to a different school like children, with families like Khan.  After grade six, these children and I would go to public school and high school.  There was no private school for them or me.  My grandfather laid the paper down.  I could tell that he was thinking.

"Okay, son…," he began slowly.  "If you want to get rich, you have to learn to make money."

"How do I make money?"  I asked

"Okay, use your head, son," he said smiling.  Even then I knew it really meant, "that's all

I'm going to tell you, "or" I don't know the answer to this, so don't embarrass me.  "

A partnership is formed

The next morning, I told my best friend, Mike, what my dad said.  As best I could tell, Mike and I were the only poor children in this school.  Mike was also at a turning point in this school.  Someone had drawn a jog in line for the school district, and we wound up with schoolchildren for the rich.  We were not really poor, but we felt like we were, because all the other members had new baseball gloves, new bicycles, new everything.

Mom and Dad provided us with the basics, such as food, shelter and clothes.  But that was about it.  My father used to say, "If you want something, work for it."  We wanted things, but there was not much work available for the nine-year-old boys.

"So what do we do to make money?"  Mike asked.

"I don't know," I said.  "But do you want to be my partner?"

He agreed, and thus on Saturday morning, Mike became my first business partner.  The whole morning coming up with ideas on how to make money.  Sometimes we talk to all the "cool people" at Jimmy's beach house and have fun.  It hurt a bit, but it hurt, because it made us think about how to make money.  Finally, that afternoon, a bolt of lightning struck.  This was an idea Mike got from a science book he spread.  Excitedly, we joined hands, and the partnership was now a business.

For the next several weeks, Mike and I roamed our neighborhoods, knocking on doors and interrupting our neighbors to see if they would save their toothpaste tubes for us.  Surprised, most adults agree to smile.  Some asked us what we were doing, which was said, "We can't tell you.  It is a business secret.  "

As the weeks wore on, my mother kept getting upset.  We had selected a site next to its washmachine, where we would store our raw materials.  Once the catsup bottles were placed in a brown cardboard box, a pile of our little toothpaste tubes started growing.

Finally my mother put her foot down.  He was fascinated by the dirty, ruined, used tubes of his neighbors.  "What are you boys doing?"  He asked.  "And I don't want to hear again that this is a business secret.  Do something with this mess, or I'm going to throw it out.

Mike and I pleaded and said that we would soon enough and then start production.  We informed him that we were waiting for some of our toothpaste neighbors so that we could find their tubes.  Mother gave us a week's extension.

The production start date was increased, and the pressure continued.  My first partnership is already being threatened by my mother with an eviction notice!  It has become Mike's job to quickly tell neighbors to use his toothpaste, saying that his dentist wanted him more often anyway.  I started putting together the production line.

One day my father drove with a friend and saw two nine-year-old boys with an unproductive line running at full speed.  There was fine white powder everywhere.  There were small milk cartons from school for a long time, and our family's Hibachi Grill was very hot with maximum heat.

Dad stepped cautiously, as the car parked on the road had been stopped since the car was parked on its way.  As he and his friend came closer, they saw a steel pot on top of the coal, with tubes of toothpaste going down.  In threads, toothpaste did not come in plastic tubes.  The tubes were made of lead.  So once the deluge stopped, the tube was dropped into a small steel vessel.  They melted down to the melting liquid, and together with my mom's pot holders, we poured lead through a small hole in the milk cartons.

The milk cartons were filled with plaster of Paris.  There was white powder everywhere.  In MyHast, I knocked the bag, and the whole area looked like it had been inadvertently hit.  The milk cartons were the outer containers for the Plaster of Paris molds.

My dad and his friend watched us carefully pour the molten lead through a small hole on top of the plaster of a Paris cube.

"Careful," said my father.

I nodded without looking.

Finally, once the pouring was done, I put the steel pot down and smiled looking at my dad.

"What are you boys doing?"  He asked with a cautious smile.

"We are doing what you told me to do. We are going to be rich," I said.

"Yes," Mike said, smiling and shaking his head.  "We are partners"

"And what's in those plaster molds?"  My father asked.

"Look," I said.  "It must be a good batch."

With a small hammer, I tapped on the seal that split the cube in half.  Carefully, I pulled out the top half of the plaster mold and a lead came out.  "

"Oh my god!"  My father said.  "You're running out of leads."  "That's right," Mike said.

"We are doing as you told us to do. We are making money."

My father's friend turned into laughter.  My dad smiled and shook his head.  There were two small boys in front of him, covered with white dust, with a side-box and a box of toothpaste tubes.

He told us to put everything down and sat with him on the steps in front of our house.  With Asmita, he gently explained what the word "forgery" meant.

Our dreams collapsed.  "You mean it's illegal?"

"Let them go," said my father's friend.  "They will be developing a natural talent."

My father flashed at him.

"Yes, it's illegal," my father said softly.  "But you boys have shown great creativity and

core beliefs.  Keep going.  I'm really proud of you!"

Frustrated, Mike and I sat in silence for about twenty minutes before we began to clean up our mess.  Business ended on opening day.  Picking up the powder, I looked at Mike and said, "I think Jimmy and his friends are right.  we are poor."

My father was going as I said.  "Boys," he said.  "If you give up then you are only poor. The most important thing is that you have done something. Most people just talk about being rich and dream. You have done something. I am very proud of you both. I will then  Say: Keep going. Don't leave. "

Mike and I were standing there in silence.  Those were good words, but we still didn't know what to do.

"Then how are you not rich, father?"  I asked

"Because I chose to become a school teacher.  School students don't really think about being rich.  We like to teach.  I wish I could help you, but I really don't know how to make money.  "

Mike and I turned and continued our cleaning.

"I know," my father said.  "If you boys want to learn how to be rich, don't ask me. Talk to your father, Mike."

"my father?"

"Yes, your father," my father repeated with a smile.  "Your father and I have the same banker, and he gives information about your father. He told me many times that your father is brilliant when it comes to making money.

"my father?"  Mike asked again in disbelief.  "Then how come we don't have a nice car and a nice house at school like rich kids?"

My father replied, "A good car and a good house does not mean you are rich or you know how to make money."  “Jimmy's father works for a sugar plantation.  He is not very different from me.  He works for a company, and I work for the government.  The company buys a car for him.  The Chinese company is in financial trouble, and Jimmy's father has nothing soon.  Your dad is different, Mike.  He seems to be building an empire, and I doubt he will be a very rich man in a few years.  "

With that, Mike and I got excited again.  With renewed vigor, we messed up our first ever business.  As we were cleaning, we planned on talking to Mike's Dad.  The problem was that Mike's father worked long hours and was often upset when he didn't come home late.  His father owned warehouses, a construction company, a Chenoff store and three restaurants.  It was the restaurant that kept him out late.

Mike caught the bus home when we finished cleaning.  He was going to talk to his dad, that night he came home and asked him if he would teach us how to get rich.  As soon as he spoke to his father, even though it was late, called Mike.

The phone rang at 8:30.

"Okay," I said.  "next Saturday."  I put the phone down.  Mike's father had agreed to meet with us.

On Saturday I caught the bus at 7:30 am for the poor of the city.

Lesson start

Mike and I met my dad at eight in the morning that day.  He was already busy, working for more than an hour.  When I moved into his simple, small and tidy house, his construction supervisor was going into his pickprack.  Mike met me at the door.

"Dad on the phone, and he said wait on the back porch," Mike said as he opened the door.

The old wooden floor creaked as I stepped on the threshold of the aging house.  Inside the door with slightly cheaper mats.  The mat was there to hide from years of wear that the floor supported.  Although clean, it needed to be replaced.

I felt as claustrophobic as I entered the narrow living room which was filled with old Mustiostuffed furniture that would be collectors' items today.  There were twins sitting on the couch, both slightly older than my mother.  On behalf of women, a man was sitting in a working man.  He wore khaki slacks and a khaki shirt, neatly pressed, but no starch and no polished work shoes.  He was about 10 years older than my father.  He smiled as Mike and evaluated him to the back porch.  I backed away shyly.

"Who are those people?"  I asked

"Oh, they work for my dad.  The older man runs his own warehouse, and the women are the manager of the restaurant.  And when you arrived, you saw the construction supervisor who is working on a road project about 50 miles from here.  Your other supervisors, who are making a track of homes before you come here.  "

"Does it go on all the time?"  I asked

"Not always, but very often," Mike said, smiling as he pulled a chair to sit next to me.

"I asked my father if he would teach us how to make money," Mike said.

"Oh, and what did he say?"  I asked with cautious curiosity.

"Well, he first had a strange look on his face, and then he said he would give us an offer."

"Oh," I said, rocking my chair back against the wall.  I sat on the two hind legs of the chair.

Mike did that.

"Do you know what the offer is?"  I asked

"No, but we'll find out soon."

Suddenly, Mike's father bursts through the door and porch of the Ricketti screen.  Mike and Izzat were on our feet, not out of respect, but because we were shocked.

"Ready, boys?"  He asked as he pulled out a chair to sit with us.

We shook our heads as we pulled our chairs away from the wall to sit in front of him.

He was a big man, about six feet tall and 200 pounds.  My father was tall, about symmetry, and five years older than Mike's father.  They look alike, although this is not ethnic makeup.  Perhaps their energy was the same.

"Mike says you want to learn to make money?"  Is that right, Robert?  "

I quickly shook my head, but with a little yearning.  There was a lot of power behind his password and smile.

"Okay, here's my proposal. I'll teach you, but I didn't do it class-style. You work for me, I'll teach you. You don't work for me, I don't teach you. If you worked  Yes, I can teach you fast, and if you sit in school and want to listen I'm wasting my time. That's my proposal. Take it or leave it. "

"Ah, may I ask a question first?"  I asked

"No. Eclipse it or leave it. I've had to do too much work to waste my time. If you can't make up your mind decisively, you'll never learn to make money. Opportunities come and go.  Go. Being able to make quick decisions is an important skill. You have the opportunity that you asked for. School is starting, or it's over in 10 seconds, "Mike's father said in a tweet.  Said with Ha smile.

"Take," I said.

"Take this," Mike said.

"Good," Mike's father said.  "Mrs. Martin will arrive in 10 minutes. After he is with you, you can accompany me to my superset and you can start work. I will pay you 10 cents per hour, and you will spend three hours every Saturday."  Will work. "

"But I have a game of softball today," I said.

Mike's father lowered his voice.  "Take it, or leave it," he said.  "I Won't Feel", selected for working and learning instead of playing, Hispanid.

Thirty cents later

By 9:00 that day, me and Mrs. Martin were working.  She was a kind and patient woman.  He always said that Mike and I reminded him of our two grown sons.  However, she believed in hard work and pushed us forward.  We spend three hours taking canned goods from the shelves, brushing each with feather dusters to remove dust, and then restoring them neatly.  It was excruciatingly boring work.

Mike's father, whom I call his rich father, was the owner of nine small super sets, each with a very large cloak.  They were early versions of Little neighborhood  grocery stores, 7-Eleven convenience stores, where people bought items such as milk, bread, butter, and cigarettes.  The problem was that it was airborne before air-conditioning was widely used, and stores could not close their doors due to heat.  On the two sides of the shop, the Theodore were supposed to be open to the street and parking lots.  Whenever a car went from the parking lot or pulled, the dust flew and settled in the shop.  We knew we had a job because there was no air conditioning.

For three weeks, Mike and I reported to Mrs. Martin and worked our three hours.  By noon, our work was over, and he gave us three small shocks in each hand.  Now, even at the age of nine in the mid-1950s, 30 cents was not exciting.  Comic Books was then priced at 10 centsback, so I usually spent my money on Comic Books and went home.

By Wednesday of the fourth week, I was ready to leave.  I agreed to work only because I wanted to learn to make money from Mike's Dad, and now I was a slave for 10 cents.  On top of that, I had not seen Mike's dad since that first Saturday.

"I'm leaving," I told Mike at lunch.  School was boring, and now I didn't even have my own Saturday to look forward to.  But it was 30 cents that I actually had.  This time Mike smiled.

"What are you laughing at?"  I asked with anger and frustration.

"Dad said it would happen."  He said when you were ready to leave, asked him to meet you.

"what?"  I said.  "He is fed up waiting for me?"

"Sort of", Mike said.  "Different like Dad. He doesn't teach like your father. Your mom and dad lectured a lot. My dad is quiet and a man of few words. You just wait until this Saturday. I'll tell him that you  Be ready

"You mean I'm set?"

"No, not really, but maybe.  Dad will explain on Saturday.  "

Waiting in line on saturday

I was ready to face Mike Dad.  Even my real father was angry with him.  My real father, whom I call poor, thought that my rich father was violating child labor laws and should be deported.

My educated, poor father told me that what I ask for is at least 25 cents per hour.  Mipur's father told me that if I did not get up, I had to leave the job immediately.

My poor father said with indignation, "You don't need a damned job anyway.

At eight o'clock on Saturday morning, I walked through the door of Mike's house when Mike's dad opened it.

"Take a seat and stay in line," he said as I entered.  He turned and disappeared into his small office next to a bedroom.

I looked around the room and didn't see Mike anywhere.  Feeling awkward, I cautiously sat next to the two women who had been there four weeks earlier.  He smiled and moved the couch to make room for me.

Twenty-five minutes passed, and I was steaming.  The two women met with her and had left 30 minutes earlier.  An elder gentleman had gone there for 20 minutes and gone.

The house was empty, and here I lived in a cool, dark room on a beautiful sunny Hawaiian day, waiting to talk to a small child.  I could hear him around the office, talking on the phone and ignoring me.  I was ready to go out, but for some reason I stayed.

Finally, 15 minutes later, exactly nine o'clock, Amir Dad walked out of his office, proverb, and signaled me with his hand to enter.

"I think you want to pick one up, or you're going to leave," the rich daddy said as soon as he reached his office chair.

"Well, you're not keeping your end of the bargain," I gasp out, almost in tears.  It was truly frightening for me to face growing up.

"You said that if I work for you, you will teach me."  Well, I have worked for you.  I've worked hard. I've given up my baseball games to work for you, but you didn't keep your word, and you didn't teach me anything.  You are a badass like everyone in the city thinks you are.  You are greedy, you want all money and do not take care of your employees.  You made me wait and did not give me any respect.  I'm only a little boy, but I deserve better treatment.  "

Rich Dad rubbed his swivel chair, put his hand up to his chin and stared at me.  "Not bad," he said.  "In less than a month, you sound like most of my employees."

"what?"  I asked  Not understanding what he was saying, I continued with my complaint.  "I thought you were going to negotiate and teach me.  You want to torture me instead?  that's cruel.  This is really cruel.

"I'm teaching you," said rich Dad quietly.

"What have you taught me?"  nothing!  "I said angrily.  After agreeing to work for peanuts you didn't even talk to me once.  Ten cents an hour.  Yes!  I should inform the government about you.  We have child labor laws, you know.  My father works for the government, you know.  "

"Wow!"  Rich Dad said.  "Now you sound like the people who used to work for me - the people I've either fired or who quit."

"So what do you have to say?"  I demanded, feeling very brave for a small child.  "You lied to me. I've worked for you, and you haven't kept your word. You didn't teach me anything."

"How do you know that I haven't taught you anything?"

"Well, you've never talked to me. I've worked for three weeks and you haven't taught me anything," I said with a pout.

"To teach means to talk or to lecture?"  Rich Dad asked.

"Well, yes," I answered.

"That's how they teach you at school," he said smiling.  "But that's not how life teaches you, and I'd say life is the best teacher of all. Most of the time, life doesn't talk to you. It pushes you around. Each push is telling life,  Wake up. There's something I want you to learn. "

"What is this man talking about?"  I asked myself quietly.  "The life pushing me around was talking to me?"  Now I knew that I would have to quit my job.  I was talking to someone who needed to be shut down.

"If you learn life lessons, you will do well. If not, life will just keep pushing you around. People do two things. Some push life around themselves. Others get angry and push back  But they push back against their boss, or their job, or their husband or wife. They don't know that it is leading the life. "

I had no idea what he was talking about.

"Life pushes us all around.  Some people give up and others quarrel.  Some people learn a lesson and move on.  They push them around, welcoming life.  For some of these people, it means they need to and want to learn something.  They learn and move forward.  Most left, and some fight like you.

Rich Dad stood and closed the strange wooden window that needed repair.  "If you learn this, you will become a wise, wealthy and happy young man.  If you do not, you blame your boss for your life job, low salary, or your problems.  You are expecting that big break that will solve all your money problems.

Rich Dad looked at me to see if I was still listening.  His eyes met mine.  We claw at the other, communicating through our eyes.  Finally, I once assimilated his message.  I knew he was right.  I was blaming him, and I asked to learn.  I was fighting

Rich Dad continued, "Or if you're the kind of person who doesn't have any guts, you just push life every time. If you're that kind of person, you spend all your life protecting it,  Will live to do the right thing, protect yourself for an event. It never happens. Then you die beating up the old one. You have a lot of friends who really like you because you  S was such a hardworking man. But the truth is that you get pushed into presenting life. Deep Douy was nervous about taking risks. You really wanted to win, but the fear of losing was from the excitement of victory. Inside  Inside, you and only you would know what you didn't do for it. You chose to play it safe. "

Our eyes met again.

"You're pushing me around?"  I asked

"Some might say that," Rich Dad smiled.  "I will say that I have only given you a taste of life."

"What's the taste of life?"  I asked, still angry, but now eager and ready to learn.

"You boys are the first people who ever asked me to teach them how to make money."  I have over 150 employees, and not one of them asked me what I knew about money.  They ask me for a job and salary, but never teach me about money.  So most people spend the best years of their lives working for money, not really understanding what it is working for them.  "

I was sitting there listening intently.

"So when Mike told me that you want to learn how to make money, I decided to design a course that would reflect real life.  I could talk until I was blue, but you wouldn't hear a thing.  So I decided that you could push me a little bit so that you could hear me.  So I only paid you 10 cents.  "

"So what are the lessons I've learned from working only at 10 cents an hour?"  I asked  "You are cheap and exploit your employees?"

Rich Dad sighed and laughed heartily.  Finally he said, "You've changed your point of view for the best. Stop blaming me and think I'm the problem. If you think I'm the problem, I have to change. If you find out you're the problem  , You can change yourself, learn something and be sensible. Most people want everyone in the world to change themselves. Let me tell you, change yourself more than everyone else  Easy. "

"I don't understand," I said.

"I am not to blame for your problems," said rich Dad, growing impatient.

"But you only pay me 10 cents."

"So what are you learning?"  Amir Dad asked smiling.

"You're cheap," I said with sly grin.

"See, you think I'm the problem," said rich dad.

"but you are."

"Well, keep that attitude and you won't learn anything. Have an attitude that I have a problem and what are your options?"

"Well, if you don't pay me more or show me more respect and teach me, I quit."

"Nice," said rich dad.  "And this is what most people do. They left the job, went in search of a better opportunity and higher salary, really thinking that it would solve the problem. In most cases, it didn't win.

"So what should I do?"  I asked  "Just take 10 cents in this one minute and smile?"

Rich Dad smiled.  "This is what other people do. But they all do, waiting for more money to solve their problems. Most just accept it, and some people work harder, but again one  Small salaries are accepted. "

I was sitting on the floor, presenting rich daddy to understand the lesson.  I could understand that this is the taste of life.  Finally, I looked up and asked, "So what will solve the problem?"

"This," he said, leaning forward in his chair and tapping me gently on the head.  "This stuff is between your ears."

It was at that moment that the rich father, in his view, separated the employees and my poor father and eventually became one of the richest people in Hawaii, while my highly educated but poor father struggled financially throughout his life.  .  .  It was an important point of view that made all the difference in a lifetime.

Rich Dad repeated this point, which I call lesson number one: the poor class works for the middle class money.  The rich have money for them.

On that bright Saturday morning, I learned a completely different approach to what Ihad was taught by my poor father.  At the age of nine, I understood that both dads wanted me tolorn.  Both fathers encouraged me to study, but not the same things.

My highly educated father recommended that I do what he did.  "Son, I want you to study hard, get good grades, so that you can get a safe, secure job with a big company."  And ensure that it is of beneficial benefit.  "My rich father wanted me to learn how money works so that I can work for it."

These lessons I will learn through life with his guidance and not because of class.

My rich dad continued my first lesson, "I'm glad you got angry about working for 10 cents ahore. If you didn't get angry and I accepted it, I'd have to tell you that I  Can't teach you. You see, true learning takes energy, passion and a burning desire.

Anger is a big part of that formula, anger and love combined for Josh.  When it makes money, most people want to play it safe and feel safe.  Therefore passion does not direct them.

Am scared.  "" That's why they would take a job with a lower salary?  "I asked." Yes, "said rich Dad.

"Some people say that I exploit people because I don't pay that much from the sugar plantation or the state treasury. I say that people exploit themselves. It's their fear, not mine."

"But don't you think you should pay them more?"  I asked

"I don't have to and besides, more money won't solve their problems. Just look at your dad. He makes a lot of money, and he still can't pay his bills. Most people, more money.  Goes, only gets into more debt. "

"So that's why 10 cents an hour," I said smiling.  "It is a part of the lesson."

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