"I'm sorry, but you're not old enough for the job". Today, I would love to hear those words, because at my age I'm considered too old for most everything. However, as a ten year old who desperately wanted a job delivering newspapers those words were tough to take. After all, I had a brand new bike, and I was almost eleven, which was just a year away from being the magical age of twelve, the minimum age to acquire a paper route.
So, like any budding entrepreneur, I looked for a way to break through the barriers. After all, I could ride a bike as well as anybody, and could I ever throw....oh yeah, I could throw a newspaper. What else was there to know?
I soon learned a lesson that has probably had more impact on my life than practically anything I've learned since. I had no idea what it was called at the time, but I soon figured out that it helped "break down barriers". Today it might be called "networking", or sometimes it might be referred to as "it's who you know". Either way, it's a way to get in front of the decision maker, a way to speak with the one who has the authority to waive some silly rule about a minimum age!
Come to find out, the Circulation Manager who hired all of the paper carriers, was a good friend of my older sister's boyfriend. Wanting to stay in my sister's good graces, her boyfriend offered to "put in a good word" for me at the newspaper office. A few days later I was called in, asked a couple of tough questions about my commitment, then "So, you're Darla's little brother". Done deal, hired.
I spent two weeks with the existing carrier who showed me the ropes, where to pick up the papers, how to fold and roll them, and of course the addresses of all 110 subscribers. I was fortunate to have the route in the same neighborhood where I lived, so I was already familiar with most of the people receiving the paper and it didn't take long to learn the route.
I delivered 110 papers every day of the week except Saturday, which was reserved for collecting from the customers. Collecting money was another learning experience, and one that taught me a lot about business. You see, with the money we collected we paid for the newspapers, bought rubber bands, carrying bags, plastic wrappers for when it rained, and then, we kept what was left, about a penny a paper. Of course that's if everyone paid their bill, and of course, not everyone did.
When you're ten or eleven years old you just assume that adults always do the right thing, so it was quite a disappointment when they did not. The cost of the newspaper was 35 cents per week, 70 cents for two, $1.05 for three weeks, then service was suspended. Amazingly, as soon as the paper didn't show up on the front doorstep, I would get an angry call and hear words that I shouldn't have learned until years later. I learned to be tactful, and explain that I could bring them a paper as soon as they brought their account current. In most instances that was all it took to collect my money.
As I mentioned earlier, I could really throw a newspaper. Blessed with a strong arm and the ability roll a newspaper really tight, I could put that paper just about anywhere I wanted. For those customers who always wondered why their paper was in the bushes, on the roof, or out in the ditch by the road, it's all about payback. It's not something I'm proud of now, but by golly if you made me work that hard to collect the money, then I made sure you worked just as hard to find your newspaper.
At the time it seemed to be the right thing to do, but I was only ten so what did I know?
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Hungry, hungry birds....
I'm walking through the grocery store carrying twenty pounds of pure white, granulated sugar, and as Elizabeth and I approach the check-out counter with our purchase, we're met with a quizzical look and a raised eyebrow from our favorite checker. She's a friendly, efficient type, who always greets us with a smile and conversation as her fingers fly over the keys of the register. Today, however, it's easy to see that she has something she wants to ask, but is hesitant to say anything.
Being the ever observant one, I blurt out, "It's for the hummers". Again, the quizzical look, so I add "The sugar, it's for the hummers". You see, it's the third or fourth time this summer that we've checked out of there with twenty pounds of sugar, and I suspected that she was dying to know what in the world two people were doing that would require 60-80 pounds of sugar. "Oh" was all she had to say in response. I think I detected a subtle hint of disbelief, but it's hard to be sure.
But, rest assured that virtually all of that sugar was mixed with water and fed to the most voracious little birds on the planet. Every morning, either my wife or I check the multitude of hummingbird feeders hanging outside the dining room window, then proceed to mix three or four quarts of sugar water to refill those that are empty. Most mornings every feeder is empty or nearly so.
Several years ago, when we first built this house, before any landscaping was done, or flowers planted, we noticed hummers hovering outside this very window. It was almost as though they had been waiting for us to move in and take care of them. Immediately, there was a mad dash for the packing box that contained the bird feeders so we could encourage them to stay.
Well, not only did those few hummers stay, they went forth and multiplied. It's impossible to know how many hummers are on the dole at our house, but it would be a safe bet to say it's several dozen.
We are avid birders, and have bird feeders and houses of every possible variety scattered over our acreage. It's a fascinating hobby, watching the feeding and nesting habits of the purple martins, bluebirds, wrens, goldfinch, etc. But, it's the hummingbirds that are the most fascinating of all as they flit about, hover at the feeders, and fight each other for a spot at the trough. At times we've stood there, feeder in hand, and had the little boogers start feeding before we even hung it on the hook.
In the words of my grandson, they are "hungry, hungry birds drinking their water". I think he meant to say "hummingbirds drinking their water", but maybe his description is even more accurate, proving once again...What do I know?
Being the ever observant one, I blurt out, "It's for the hummers". Again, the quizzical look, so I add "The sugar, it's for the hummers". You see, it's the third or fourth time this summer that we've checked out of there with twenty pounds of sugar, and I suspected that she was dying to know what in the world two people were doing that would require 60-80 pounds of sugar. "Oh" was all she had to say in response. I think I detected a subtle hint of disbelief, but it's hard to be sure.
But, rest assured that virtually all of that sugar was mixed with water and fed to the most voracious little birds on the planet. Every morning, either my wife or I check the multitude of hummingbird feeders hanging outside the dining room window, then proceed to mix three or four quarts of sugar water to refill those that are empty. Most mornings every feeder is empty or nearly so.
Several years ago, when we first built this house, before any landscaping was done, or flowers planted, we noticed hummers hovering outside this very window. It was almost as though they had been waiting for us to move in and take care of them. Immediately, there was a mad dash for the packing box that contained the bird feeders so we could encourage them to stay.
Well, not only did those few hummers stay, they went forth and multiplied. It's impossible to know how many hummers are on the dole at our house, but it would be a safe bet to say it's several dozen.
We are avid birders, and have bird feeders and houses of every possible variety scattered over our acreage. It's a fascinating hobby, watching the feeding and nesting habits of the purple martins, bluebirds, wrens, goldfinch, etc. But, it's the hummingbirds that are the most fascinating of all as they flit about, hover at the feeders, and fight each other for a spot at the trough. At times we've stood there, feeder in hand, and had the little boogers start feeding before we even hung it on the hook.
In the words of my grandson, they are "hungry, hungry birds drinking their water". I think he meant to say "hummingbirds drinking their water", but maybe his description is even more accurate, proving once again...What do I know?
Country Livin', It's the life....
My wife and I are entering our seventh year of living the "country life" and I must say it's been quite an experience. We both enjoy the solitude, although the Mrs. still has to make it to the city on a regular basis for a "dose of civilization". I actually think it's more about the shopping for the grandkids than anything else. But, when either of us return from our occasional trips to the city, we know why it is we've chosen to live in rural America.
Sitting on our front porch gives one the feeling of living in a dense forest as all we see are trees. Some of them were planted by us to add color and texture to the native landscape, but most are native scrub oak trees, or blackjacks, as they are commonly called. They are gnarly, rough looking trees that provide a dense canopy of green leaves, and harbor a variety of wildlife. We regularly see rabbits, squirrels, deer, woodpeckers, and an occasional owl, wild turkey, coyote or bobcat.
Most evenings, however, we spend on the back porch which offers a completely different vista. It has a southern exposure where the terrain slopes gently away from the house, and offers an expansive view, much different than the front. Watching the cattle graze on the lush grass around the pond as the calves chase each other and butt heads helps calm the soul, and is something I wish everyone would have the chance to see. On these evenings when the gentle south breeze makes the pasture grass look like waves, it's as peaceful and serene as any place I've ever experienced.
This area is defined on the Kansas map as the Chautauqua Hills, and true to the description we have hills that rise from the edge of the creek along the south edge of our pasture. The hills form a ridge that borders the south and east edges of our land, and the seasonal vegetation growing there offers a spectacular array of color from early spring until winter. I find myself anxiously awaiting the arrival of fall when the pasture grasses, sumac, and trees begin to fight for attention with the brilliant reds, yellows, and purples that each one provides.
Of course with the arrival of fall on the ranch, we must be prepared for the winter when things are not nearly as peaceful and serene. The cattle will expect to be fed daily, and that will require that we lay in plenty of hay and feed for the cold weather that will be here before you know it. As much as I look forward to the fall season, I know that it's a time to get ready for those cold, snowy mornings when the most peaceful place to be is snuggled under the quilts.
As with all things, we must learn to take the good with the bad since there are very few rewards in life that don't require hard work. I have friends in the city who say they would love to live as we do. To them, I say be careful what you wish for as I will soon be chopping through ice on the pond and sloshing through the mud, muck, and snow everyday. It's a lifestyle that I find to be very, very rewarding, but it's probably not for everyone. Then again, it may be 'cause it's been proven time and time again...... What do I know?
Sitting on our front porch gives one the feeling of living in a dense forest as all we see are trees. Some of them were planted by us to add color and texture to the native landscape, but most are native scrub oak trees, or blackjacks, as they are commonly called. They are gnarly, rough looking trees that provide a dense canopy of green leaves, and harbor a variety of wildlife. We regularly see rabbits, squirrels, deer, woodpeckers, and an occasional owl, wild turkey, coyote or bobcat.
Most evenings, however, we spend on the back porch which offers a completely different vista. It has a southern exposure where the terrain slopes gently away from the house, and offers an expansive view, much different than the front. Watching the cattle graze on the lush grass around the pond as the calves chase each other and butt heads helps calm the soul, and is something I wish everyone would have the chance to see. On these evenings when the gentle south breeze makes the pasture grass look like waves, it's as peaceful and serene as any place I've ever experienced.
This area is defined on the Kansas map as the Chautauqua Hills, and true to the description we have hills that rise from the edge of the creek along the south edge of our pasture. The hills form a ridge that borders the south and east edges of our land, and the seasonal vegetation growing there offers a spectacular array of color from early spring until winter. I find myself anxiously awaiting the arrival of fall when the pasture grasses, sumac, and trees begin to fight for attention with the brilliant reds, yellows, and purples that each one provides.
Of course with the arrival of fall on the ranch, we must be prepared for the winter when things are not nearly as peaceful and serene. The cattle will expect to be fed daily, and that will require that we lay in plenty of hay and feed for the cold weather that will be here before you know it. As much as I look forward to the fall season, I know that it's a time to get ready for those cold, snowy mornings when the most peaceful place to be is snuggled under the quilts.
As with all things, we must learn to take the good with the bad since there are very few rewards in life that don't require hard work. I have friends in the city who say they would love to live as we do. To them, I say be careful what you wish for as I will soon be chopping through ice on the pond and sloshing through the mud, muck, and snow everyday. It's a lifestyle that I find to be very, very rewarding, but it's probably not for everyone. Then again, it may be 'cause it's been proven time and time again...... What do I know?
Monday, July 26, 2010
Good guys and white hats
A few weeks ago there was a news story that caught my eye. It didn't seem to grab much attention elsewhere in the media, but it was an important event to me. It was an announcement for an upcoming auction of Roy Rogers memorabilia, including the mount of his trusty horse, Trigger. I paused for several minutes and allowed myself to think back to a far simpler time in life, a time when there seemed to be far less strife, and a lot more agreement about what was right and wrong.
As children of the fifties, many of us would gather around the black and white television and cheer for Roy as he fought for all that was good and fair. Weekly, we watched as he was protecting those who were being threatened or oppressed by the evil doers in the wild west. And, how we would laugh at the antics of his sidekick Gabby, all the while knowing that, as good friends always do, he would come through in a pinch if Roy needed him. It was a good time of life, and the lessons we learned from Roy Rogers laid a solid foundation for making good decisions everyday.
How many of you were members of the Roy Rogers Riders Club? How many of you even remember it? I do, but I must admit that I was a little fuzzy on the Club rules so I had to do a little research to find them. They were ten rules that every young rider had to obey if they wanted to stay in Roy's good graces, and who wanted to be the one to disappoint Roy? There was nothing magical about the rules, but they were Roy's rules, not your teachers' rules, not your parents' rules, but straight from the mouth of Roy Rogers.
I see a lot of common sense in these rules, things we should pass along to our children and grandchildren. We may not have Roy Rogers anymore, but we have Moms, Dads, Grandpas, Grandmas, Teachers, and many others who can be the heroes to this generation. People who can instill the desire to "do the right thing" everyday, and in every situation. People who still wear the "white hats".
By the way, the winning bid for Trigger was $266,500, and the saddle went for $386,500. Evidently there's still quite a market for the symbols of virtue and goodness, but then again, what do I know?
As children of the fifties, many of us would gather around the black and white television and cheer for Roy as he fought for all that was good and fair. Weekly, we watched as he was protecting those who were being threatened or oppressed by the evil doers in the wild west. And, how we would laugh at the antics of his sidekick Gabby, all the while knowing that, as good friends always do, he would come through in a pinch if Roy needed him. It was a good time of life, and the lessons we learned from Roy Rogers laid a solid foundation for making good decisions everyday.
How many of you were members of the Roy Rogers Riders Club? How many of you even remember it? I do, but I must admit that I was a little fuzzy on the Club rules so I had to do a little research to find them. They were ten rules that every young rider had to obey if they wanted to stay in Roy's good graces, and who wanted to be the one to disappoint Roy? There was nothing magical about the rules, but they were Roy's rules, not your teachers' rules, not your parents' rules, but straight from the mouth of Roy Rogers.
Roy Rogers Riders Club Rules
- Be neat and clean.
- Be courteous and polite.
- Always obey your parents.
- Protect the weak and help them.
- Be brave and don't take chances.
- Study hard and learn all you can.
- Be kind to animals and take care of them.
- Eat all your food and don't waste any.
- Love God and go to Sunday school regularly.
- Always respect our flag and our country.
Reading this list of rules, it saddens me to see how far we've strayed from what used to be considered the "mainstream" beliefs of this great nation. Ten basic tenets that offered children a standard to strive for in life. Is there really anything on this list that doesn't make sense today?
I see a lot of common sense in these rules, things we should pass along to our children and grandchildren. We may not have Roy Rogers anymore, but we have Moms, Dads, Grandpas, Grandmas, Teachers, and many others who can be the heroes to this generation. People who can instill the desire to "do the right thing" everyday, and in every situation. People who still wear the "white hats".
By the way, the winning bid for Trigger was $266,500, and the saddle went for $386,500. Evidently there's still quite a market for the symbols of virtue and goodness, but then again, what do I know?
Friday, July 23, 2010
I'm 58 years old, and in my mind I tend to think of myself as a "young 58". When I peer into the mirror, however, there is no denying the truth. I'm not all that young anymore. I've always heard that age is a state of mind, and I tend to agree with that, except when it comes to technology.
There is something terribly amiss in my brain when it comes to "modern" technology.....and now, we have what I like to call the age of "ultra-modern", totally beyond my comprehension, technology. You see, I have a point of reference that is much different than that of people just a few years younger than me.
My junior year of college we had a major debate in one of my finance classes. Now there's nothing wrong with a good healthy debate, right? About what, you ask? Well, we were debating the unfair advantage (my viewpoint) of the students who could afford the newly introduced Texas Instruments hand held calculator. A device that had the capability, with the punch of a button, to calculate square and square root problems. When one is faced with solving financial equations this tool was a major advantage that poor boys like myself just couldn't afford. Of course at a private university like Tulsa, there weren't that many "poor boys" around....I lost the debate.
At the time I was recently married, living on a shoestring budget, and scraping together money for tuition by working an assortment of part-time jobs that paid anywhere from $2 to $3 per hour. Fortunately my new bride had landed a full-time job that paid $425 per month. We were not exactly flush with cash, and the cost of one of these fancy new calculators was $199. To put it into perspective, that amount of cash would make three payments on our mobile home, or our car, or pay one half of the tuition for the semester. In other words, a very major investment for us.
To make a long story shorter, we scrimped and saved, worked extra hours, and made the decision to invest in our future. Like most technology it made my life easier, and we never regretted the sacrifice we made.
Since that time technology has exploded. They now give away those little calculators as promotional items at the bank, and $199 will buy you a basic computer with more capacity than was ever imaginable when I was young.
And for those "poor boys" that are now attending college, the debate is over, technology is in the classroom to stay. Virtually every student takes a laptop computer to class to view the lesson plan being displayed as a PowerPoint presentation on the screen.
I've always embraced technology, I just don't pretend to understand it, and at my age I doubt that I ever will. After all , what do I know?
There is something terribly amiss in my brain when it comes to "modern" technology.....and now, we have what I like to call the age of "ultra-modern", totally beyond my comprehension, technology. You see, I have a point of reference that is much different than that of people just a few years younger than me.
My junior year of college we had a major debate in one of my finance classes. Now there's nothing wrong with a good healthy debate, right? About what, you ask? Well, we were debating the unfair advantage (my viewpoint) of the students who could afford the newly introduced Texas Instruments hand held calculator. A device that had the capability, with the punch of a button, to calculate square and square root problems. When one is faced with solving financial equations this tool was a major advantage that poor boys like myself just couldn't afford. Of course at a private university like Tulsa, there weren't that many "poor boys" around....I lost the debate.
At the time I was recently married, living on a shoestring budget, and scraping together money for tuition by working an assortment of part-time jobs that paid anywhere from $2 to $3 per hour. Fortunately my new bride had landed a full-time job that paid $425 per month. We were not exactly flush with cash, and the cost of one of these fancy new calculators was $199. To put it into perspective, that amount of cash would make three payments on our mobile home, or our car, or pay one half of the tuition for the semester. In other words, a very major investment for us.
To make a long story shorter, we scrimped and saved, worked extra hours, and made the decision to invest in our future. Like most technology it made my life easier, and we never regretted the sacrifice we made.
Since that time technology has exploded. They now give away those little calculators as promotional items at the bank, and $199 will buy you a basic computer with more capacity than was ever imaginable when I was young.
And for those "poor boys" that are now attending college, the debate is over, technology is in the classroom to stay. Virtually every student takes a laptop computer to class to view the lesson plan being displayed as a PowerPoint presentation on the screen.
I've always embraced technology, I just don't pretend to understand it, and at my age I doubt that I ever will. After all , what do I know?
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Decisions have consequences
It was the winter of 1961, I was ten years old and driving my folks crazy for a bicycle for Christmas. No, it wasn't just any bicycle, I was fixated on the one I had spotted in the window of the local Western Auto Store. Shiny black, gold trim, skinny tires, and best of all, it had three speeds. What we called way back then, an English Racer! I wanted that bike more than anything I had ever wanted in my short life.
I don't remember the price, but I'm quite sure it was more than had been set aside for Christmas presents in my parents' modest budget. But, I was determined, and never, never underestimate the ability of a stubborn ten year old boy to wear down the opposition. Christmas was rapidly approaching, and my pleadings became desperate. Was I making progress? Were they relenting? It was hard to say, but then one day my mother said, "Why don't we go look at that bike at Western Auto"? I was euphoric on the drive to town, which seemed like an hour, but really took all of five minutes. As we pulled into the parking space in front of the store, I was out of the car in a flash and headed straight for the bicycles.
Little did I know that the tragedy of all tragedies awaited me in that store. "My" treasured English Racer was nowhere to be seen! To this day I'm not sure that my mother didn't already know what lay in store, as the salesman sadly relayed the news that someone had purchased "my" bike, and no, they didn't have another like it in the store. Devastated, I turned without a word, my heart broken and trudged back to the car as my mother continued to speak with the salesman.
As I sat in the front seat, slumped as only little boys can do, Mom approached the car, opened the door and said, "The man said they might be able to order one for us, but it won't be here by Christmas". Success! It was as good as in the garage, and so what that it wouldn't be here for Christmas morning. I'm sure there was further discussion about not having any other presents because of the expense of the bike, but I paid no attention....that beauty was about to be mine!
Christmas morning, laughter and giggles from my sisters as they tore into their presents, while I sat on the couch, stifled a cry, and endured the consequences of my decision. It was February before the squeals of delight were mine when that bicycle was finally delivered. Was it worth the wait, you betcha!
Looking back, I'm really proud of the way my parents handled that situation. They knew that it would be very hard for me on Christmas morning, but they stood their ground and made me suffer the consequences of my actions. I think it's important to remember that every decision we make has a consequence for which only we are responsible, but then, what do I know.
I don't remember the price, but I'm quite sure it was more than had been set aside for Christmas presents in my parents' modest budget. But, I was determined, and never, never underestimate the ability of a stubborn ten year old boy to wear down the opposition. Christmas was rapidly approaching, and my pleadings became desperate. Was I making progress? Were they relenting? It was hard to say, but then one day my mother said, "Why don't we go look at that bike at Western Auto"? I was euphoric on the drive to town, which seemed like an hour, but really took all of five minutes. As we pulled into the parking space in front of the store, I was out of the car in a flash and headed straight for the bicycles.
Little did I know that the tragedy of all tragedies awaited me in that store. "My" treasured English Racer was nowhere to be seen! To this day I'm not sure that my mother didn't already know what lay in store, as the salesman sadly relayed the news that someone had purchased "my" bike, and no, they didn't have another like it in the store. Devastated, I turned without a word, my heart broken and trudged back to the car as my mother continued to speak with the salesman.
As I sat in the front seat, slumped as only little boys can do, Mom approached the car, opened the door and said, "The man said they might be able to order one for us, but it won't be here by Christmas". Success! It was as good as in the garage, and so what that it wouldn't be here for Christmas morning. I'm sure there was further discussion about not having any other presents because of the expense of the bike, but I paid no attention....that beauty was about to be mine!
Christmas morning, laughter and giggles from my sisters as they tore into their presents, while I sat on the couch, stifled a cry, and endured the consequences of my decision. It was February before the squeals of delight were mine when that bicycle was finally delivered. Was it worth the wait, you betcha!
Looking back, I'm really proud of the way my parents handled that situation. They knew that it would be very hard for me on Christmas morning, but they stood their ground and made me suffer the consequences of my actions. I think it's important to remember that every decision we make has a consequence for which only we are responsible, but then, what do I know.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Passages and Lessons Learned
My dad died fifteen years ago this year, and my mom passed away in May. They were able to celebrate fifty years of marriage just nine months before dad died. Married at age sixteen, first baby at seventeen, eighth grade educations, they were ill prepared to be all grown up.
Born in Northeast Oklahoma when times were hard and the work was harder, they somehow survived, and while never prosperous, they were able to make their way through life. Working first in the zinc mines, then learning the carpentry trade Dad was able to provide for this young family as babies number two and three arrived. He worked various jobs, in various locations, but he always had that entrepreneurial itch, and like many entrepreneurs he didn't like working for someone else, so he started his own company.
Lately, I've caught myself reflecting on the things he taught me, and some of the things he didn't. But, most of all, I've been thinking about the way he lived his life, operated his business, and how it impacted my beliefs and actions. I find that many of the things that seem to come naturally to me, were actually lessons learned from him.
Dad lived by the credo that a man's word is as good as any contract, but unfortunately that's not always true. Like the time his business partner cleaned out the company bank account and skipped town, leaving our family with no recourse but to face years of financial hardship. I learned to be cautious in all business dealings and I advise my clients to do likewise.
We used to spend hours helping to gather receipts, invoices, sales slips and handwritten notes for the tax season. You see, he was a contractor and his office was his truck. Files were unheard of, and we found most things under the seat, on the dash, in the glove box, behind the seat, and in the tool box. It was an elaborate record keeping system for sure, but not one that I would recommend. It did, however, teach me the value of keeping accurate records, and I advise my clients to do the same.
Dad also did a lot of work for free. Not intentionally mind you, but because he was a procrastinator and would never quite get around to sending out that final statement at the end of a job. This taught me to pay close attention to the cash flow, and to never put off until tomorrow what needs to be done today. My clients hear the same story.
These are lessons learned that I think are important, but then again, what do I know.
Born in Northeast Oklahoma when times were hard and the work was harder, they somehow survived, and while never prosperous, they were able to make their way through life. Working first in the zinc mines, then learning the carpentry trade Dad was able to provide for this young family as babies number two and three arrived. He worked various jobs, in various locations, but he always had that entrepreneurial itch, and like many entrepreneurs he didn't like working for someone else, so he started his own company.
Lately, I've caught myself reflecting on the things he taught me, and some of the things he didn't. But, most of all, I've been thinking about the way he lived his life, operated his business, and how it impacted my beliefs and actions. I find that many of the things that seem to come naturally to me, were actually lessons learned from him.
Dad lived by the credo that a man's word is as good as any contract, but unfortunately that's not always true. Like the time his business partner cleaned out the company bank account and skipped town, leaving our family with no recourse but to face years of financial hardship. I learned to be cautious in all business dealings and I advise my clients to do likewise.
We used to spend hours helping to gather receipts, invoices, sales slips and handwritten notes for the tax season. You see, he was a contractor and his office was his truck. Files were unheard of, and we found most things under the seat, on the dash, in the glove box, behind the seat, and in the tool box. It was an elaborate record keeping system for sure, but not one that I would recommend. It did, however, teach me the value of keeping accurate records, and I advise my clients to do the same.
Dad also did a lot of work for free. Not intentionally mind you, but because he was a procrastinator and would never quite get around to sending out that final statement at the end of a job. This taught me to pay close attention to the cash flow, and to never put off until tomorrow what needs to be done today. My clients hear the same story.
These are lessons learned that I think are important, but then again, what do I know.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)