Making That First Million Can Wait
I saw an investment firm ad the other day that said if a teenager starts buying stocks today, he or she can expect to be a millionaire by age 50.
After work that day, I rushed home to find my 11-year-old sprawled on the couch amid a heap of Moon Pie wrappers and empty Surge cans with a “Space Ghost” cartoon blaring from the TV.
“Son,” I said, “I want you to get up off that couch this instant and start investing. Every second you waste now means one fewer ski trip to St. Moritz in 2036.”
To my surprise, the boy did not leap off the couch, whip out his cell phone and immediately place a call to Merrill Lynch. He did, however, change the channel to a rerun of “Home Improvement,” which I thought was a step in the right direction, if a modest one.
“You’re no doubt aware,” I said, “that the stock market is very hot now and has been hot for a long time and that if you haven’t assembled a diverse portfolio by the time you hit seventh grade, you will most likely spend your golden years cleaning the grease traps at McDonald’s in order to afford the rent on your appliance carton underneath the overpass.”
“Cool!,” said the 11-year-old, plugging a video game cartridge into his Nintendo machine. “I heard if you work at McDonald’s you get to eat all the french fries you want for free.”
“Son,” I intoned, “financial security means more than free french fries.”
“You mean I’ll be getting free Big Macs, too?” he asked excitedly.
“You’re missing the point, son,” I said. “You need to be thinking in terms of T-bonds and mutual funds. How much disposable income do you have?”
“Not much,” he said. “You haven’t paid me my allowance in two weeks.”
“Never mind that,” I said. “Bill Gates didn’t get where he is today by nagging his parents for a $5-a-week allowance. That’s the kind of negative thinking that erodes consumer confidence and gives Wall Street a bad case of the heebie-jeebies.”
By this time the boy had turned off his video game and was outside playing fetch with his dog.
“How can you play fetch with the dog when Microsoft is selling for $140 a share and Alan Greenspan has embraced the outlook for higher sustainable growth without inflation?” I asked.
A couple of neighborhood boys arrived and pretty soon they had chosen up sides for a game of Wiffle Ball, with the dog serving as designated runner for both sides.
“Sure,” I yelled. “You know how to hit behind the runner but do any of you know how to figure price-to-earnings ratios or have the slightest clue what the yen will do against the dollar next week?”
The pitcher hung a belt-high fastball that the batter ripped into left field. The dog streaked home from the neighbor’s yard without drawing a throw.
The boys played on until it was too dark to see anymore. Besides, fireflies were winking at the edge of a vacant lot and when 11-year-old boys are given the choice between baseball and fireflies, fireflies win every time.
An empty mayonnaise jar was found to hold the catch and soon all that was left of the day were random flashes of yellow light and the excited shouts of boys trying to capture the light in a bottle.
“Were any of you aware that just last Wednesday the Dow Jones Industrial Average hit an all-time high of 8259.31?” I yelled at the shadows. “Well? Were you?”
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