Waiting in Line on Saturday
I was ready to face Mike’s dad. Even my real dad was angry with him. My real dad, the one
I call the poor one, thought that my rich dad was violating child labor laws and should be
investigated.
My educated, poor dad told me to demand what I deserve—at least 25 cents an hour. My
poor dad told me that if I did not get a raise, I was to quit immediately.
“You don’t need that damned job anyway,” said my poor dad with indignation.
At eight o’clock Saturday morning, I walked through the door of Mike’s house when Mike’s
dad opened it.
“Take a seat and wait in line,” he said as I entered. He turned and disappeared into his little
office next to a bedroom.
I looked around the room and didn’t see Mike anywhere. Feeling awkward, I cautiously sat
down next to the same two women who were there four weeks earlier. They smiled and slid
down the couch to make room for me.
Forty-five minutes went by, and I was steaming. The two women had met with him and left
30 minutes earlier. An older gentleman was in there for 20 minutes and was also gone.
The house was empty, and here I sat in a musty, dark living room on a beautiful sunny
Hawaiian day, waiting to talk to a cheapskate who exploited children. I could hear him
rustling around the office, talking on the phone, and ignoring me. I was ready to walk out, but
for some reason I stayed.
Finally, 15 minutes later, at exactly nine o’clock, rich dad walked out of his office, said
nothing, and signaled with his hand for me to enter.
“I understand you want a raise, or you’re going to quit,” rich dad said as he swiveled in his
office chair.
“Well, you’re not keeping your end of the bargain,” I blurted out, nearly in tears. It was
really frightening for me to confront a grown-up.
“You said that you would teach me if I worked for you. Well, I’ve worked for you. I’ve
worked hard. I’ve given up my baseball games to work for you, but you haven’t kept your
word, and you haven’t taught me anything. You are a crook like everyone in town thinks you
are. You’re greedy. You want all the money and don’t take care of your employees. You
made me wait and don’t show me any respect. I’m only a little boy, but I deserve to be
treated better.”
Rich dad rocked back in his swivel chair, hands 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 grievance. “I
thought you were going to keep your end of the bargain and teach me. Instead you want to
torture me? That’s cruel. That’s really cruel.”
“I am teaching you,” rich dad said quietly.
“What have you taught me? Nothing!” I said angrily. “You haven’t even talked to me once
since I agreed to work for peanuts. Ten cents an hour. Hah! I should notify the government
about you. We have child labor laws, you know. My dad works for the government, you
know.”
“Wow!” said rich dad. “Now you sound just like most of the people who used to work for
me—people I’ve either fired or who have quit.”
“So what do you have to say?” I demanded, feeling pretty brave for a little kid. “You lied to
me. I’ve worked for you, and you have not kept your word. You haven’t taught me anything.”
“How do you know that I’ve not taught you anything?” asked rich dad calmly.
“Well, you’ve never talked to me. I’ve worked for three weeks and you have not taught me
anything,” I said with a pout.
“Does teaching mean talking or a lecture?” rich dad asked.
“Well, yes,” I replied.
“That’s how they teach you in school,” he said, smiling. “But that is not how life teaches
you, and I would say that life is the best teacher of all. Most of the time, life does not talk to
you. It just sort of pushes you around. Each push is life saying, ‘Wake up. There’s something
I want you to learn.’”
“What is this man talking about?” I asked myself silently. “Life pushing me around was life
talking to me?” Now I knew I had to quit my job. I was talking to someone who needed to be
locked up.
“If you learn life’s lessons, you will do well. If not, life will just continue to push you
around. People do two things. Some just let life push them around. Others get angry and push
back. But they push back against their boss, or their job, or their husband or wife. They do
not know it’s life that’s pushing.”
I had no idea what he was talking about.
“Life pushes all of us around. Some people give up and others fight. A few learn the lesson
and move on. They welcome life pushing them around. To these few people, it means they
need and want to learn something. They learn and move on. Most quit, and a few like you
fight.”
Rich dad stood and shut the creaky old wooden window that needed repair. “If you learn this
lesson, you will grow into a wise, wealthy, and happy young man. If you don’t, you will
spend your life blaming a job, low pay, or your boss for your problems. You’ll live life
always hoping for that big break that will solve all your money problems.”
Rich dad looked over at me to see if I was still listening. His eyes met mine. We stared at
each other, communicating through our eyes. Finally, I looked away once I had absorbed his
message. I knew he was right. I was blaming him, and I did ask to learn. I was fighting.
Rich dad continued, “Or if you’re the kind of person who has no guts, you just give up every
time life pushes you. If you’re that kind of person, you’ll live all your life playing it safe,
doing the right things, saving yourself for some event that never happens. Then you die a
boring old man. You’ll have lots of friends who really like you because you were such a
nice hardworking guy. But the truth is that you let life push you into submission. Deep down
you were terrified of taking risks. You really wanted to win, but the fear of losing was
greater than the excitement of winning. Deep inside, you and only you will know you didn’t
go for it. You chose to play it safe.”
Our eyes met again.
“You’ve been pushing me around?” I asked.
“Some people might say that,” smiled rich dad. “I would say that I just gave you a taste of
life.”
“What taste of life?” I asked, still angry, but now curious and ready to learn.
“You boys are the first people that have ever asked me to teach them how to make money. I
have more than 150 employees, and not one of them has asked me what I know about money.
They ask me for a job and a paycheck, but never to teach them about money. So most will
spend the best years of their lives working for money, not really understanding what it is
they are working for.”
I sat there listening intently.
“So when Mike told me you wanted to learn how to make money, I decided to design a
course that mirrored real life. I could talk until I was blue in the face, but you wouldn’t hear
a thing. So I decided to let life push you around a bit so you could hear me. That’s why I
only paid you 10 cents.”
“So what is the lesson I learned from working for only 10 cents an hour?” I asked. “That
you’re cheap and exploit your workers?”
Rich dad rocked back and laughed heartily. Finally he said, “You’d best change your point
of view. Stop blaming me and thinking I’m the problem. If you think I’m the problem, then
you have to change me. If you realize that you’re the problem, then you can change yourself,
learn something, and grow wiser. Most people want everyone else in the world to change
but themselves. Let me tell you, it’s easier to change yourself than everyone else.”
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“Don’t blame me for your problems,” rich dad said, growing impatient.
“But you only pay me 10 cents.”
“So what are you learning?” rich dad asked, smiling.
“That you’re cheap,” I said with a sly grin.
“See, you think I’m the problem,” said rich dad.
“But you are.”
“Well, keep that attitude and you’ll learn nothing. Keep the attitude that I’m the problem and
what choices do you have?”
“Well, if you don’t pay me more or show me more respect and teach me, I’ll quit.”
“Well put,” rich dad said. “And that’s exactly what most people do. They quit and go
looking for another job, a better opportunity, and higher pay, actually thinking that this will
solve the problem. In most cases, it won’t.”
“So what should I do?” I asked. “Just take this measly 10 cents an hour and smile?”
Rich dad smiled. “That’s what the other people do. But that’s all they do, waiting for a raise
thinking that more money will solve their problems. Most just accept it, and some take a
second job working harder, but again accepting a small paycheck.”
I sat staring at the floor, beginning to understand the lesson rich dad was presenting. I could
sense it was a 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
between your ears.”
It was at that moment that rich dad shared the pivotal point of view that separated him from
his employees and my poor dad—and led him to eventually become one of the richest men in
Hawaii, while my highly educated but poor dad struggled financially all his life. It was a
singular point of view that made all the difference over a lifetime.
Rich dad said this point of view over and over, which I call lesson number one:
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