How to be Good in Sales

 

Once Upon A Time

I’m easy.

I mean if you tell me you will not buy from me, I’m cool with it. I will not pester you or badger you.  You will hear the end of it right there and then.  Promise.

But (sigh), these are not the traits of a master sales (wo)man, traits that, Robert Kiyosaki assures me, will make me very rich.

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Money and the Games Children Play

In Red, In Blue

Fields, In Red, In Blue

I had the sudden urge to know if, at 8, she knows what money is all about.

So I called my daughter, who was busy playing, and asked her: C, what is money?  Eyebrows going up, eyes slightly questioning (as if saying, now where is mom going with this), she says, tongue in cheek, voice bored, “It has a lot of numbers and signs on it.”   Okay (sounds about right).  I made a follow up question: C, do you know how you can make lots of money? Grinning, she answered, her voice lilting and confident, “I can draw it.”

Obviously, I have to teach her about money.  And soon.

Interestingly, when Robert Kiyosaki was 9, he had the same idea.

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Questions of a Modern Day Mother

To Be Mother

To Be Mother

It is true what they say. Nothing can compensate for failure in the home. But it is like the peace pipe – everyone is smoking it.  But are people inhaling?

It was an uneventful night, a school night and I came home from work all fired up after a rather exhilarating and interesting meeting. I took out my daughter’s reminder book (which I have not looked at for 2 days) and started asking her whether she has done this or that, to which she replied, yes, yes and yes. I decided to look for the sake of looking and found out that she has not done one assignment. I called her and told her that I would help her with it. She looked at me, all eight years old of her, mocking me with eyes that said, “Why?”

Why the sudden interest?  Where have you been all this time?

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A Summer to Remember

Hand to Heart

Hand to Heart

My daughter comes up to me and says, “Mom, I want to rest this summer.”

I shake my head in amazement.  I look beyond her and am transported to hazy images of a time not long ago when I wanted to be ballerina, dancing in my pink tutu, crown on my head, traipsing over imagined ledges and leaping.  Leaping! But money was spread too thinly over four kids and there was just no money for ballet classes, or extra classes for that matter. I can even see my mother and her worn out face, hear her “No”, touch her despair, wonder why in my looking glass I seemed nonchalant.

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