A M VICTORIAN DECORATIONS

Come Into My Trading Room: A Complete Guide to Trading

The trading bible for the new millennium
In Come Into My Trading Room, noted trader and author Dr. Alexander Elder returns to expand far beyond the three M's (Mind, Method, and Money) of his bestselling Trading for a Living. Shifting focus from technical analysis to the overall management of a trader's money, time, and strategy, Dr. Elder takes readers from the fundamentals to the secrets of being a successful trader--identifying new, little known indicators that can lead to huge profits.
Come Into My Trading Room educates the novice and fortifies the professional through expert advice and proven trading methodologies. This comprehensive trading guide provides a complete introduction to the essentials of successful trading; a fresh look at the three M's, including a proven, step-by-step money management strategy; and an in-depth look at organizing your trading time. Come Into My Trading Room reviews the basics of trading stocks, futures, and options as well as crucial psychological tactics for discipline and organization—with the goal of turning anyone into a complete and successful trader.
By showing traders how to combine the elements of mind, method, and money, Come Into My Trading Room gives readers the knowledge and insight to enter the market with confidence and exit with profits. Unparalleled depth and a wide range of coverage will keep all levels of traders engaged, informed, and returning to Come Into My Trading Room again and again.
Dr. Alexander Elder (New York, NY) is a professional trader, technical analysis expert, and practicing psychiatrist. He is the founder of Financial Trading Inc., providing intensive trading camps to traders all over the world. Elder's first book Trading for a Living (Wiley: 0471592242) and the companion study guide have sold over 160,000 copies.

"Daddy? Did I do something wrong?"

Those fateful words still bring a smile to my face. They were uttered 13 years ago by my son Michael. He was 5 at the time and I was his assistant soccer coach. Unlike his younger brother, David, Michael initially lacked an inate passion for sports. Things have changed. Today, he loves sports, soccer included. But back then...he would rather watch trains go by. In fact, his room was decorated with...trains. Hmmm....I wonder who gave him that passion?

Anyways...when I realized our son's game was being played one evening next to the train tracks I immeditately turned to our head coach and expressed my concern. His glib response was to assure me that the children were safe due to the fence, but that was not at all what I was referring to. "You'll see"...I muttered.

Sure enough, late in the game with the score tied, the other team had the ball. Michael and another boy were on defence. It then happened. A train started to zoom down the track. Michael turned to me and shouted ..."Daddy...Daddy...train"...and bolted to the fence to watch the locomotive roar by. His defensive partner joined him, leaving our unfortunately goalie unprotected. Needless to say...the other team scored...and eventually won the game.

After the train passed, Michael sheepishly walked back to me. The groans of some of the parents had alerted him that he had not done what was required. He looked up at me with his big brown eyes and asked..."Daddy? Did I do something wrong?"

I could have scolded him. I could have benched him. I could have given him a speach about team sports, responsibility and life. I could have...but...I didn't. He was 5 and his whole life was ahead of him. This was house league. It was supposed to be fun,

"No Mikey. It's ok". I responded. I figured I had a life time to teach him the finer details of life.
But...that day...the only lesson to be learned was...enjoy life.

Michael turns 18 in a few days. Today was a very bittersweet day. We drove him to university where he will be living away from home. He's our first child to move away from home. It's only an hour away and I will be dropping by on occasion and seeing him. How times have changed...he's taking Sports Management. So much for trains (*grin*). We're very proud of him...and I realize that this is all part of life. Our children have to spread their wings and fly on their own. As parents our job is to teach our children, guide them and encourage them...but to let them fly. We can't fly for them. I get all that. But just the same...tonight...

No Mikey...you did nothing wrong. We're really, really proud of you. Keep doing well in school..and keep making us proud.

~ Love, Dad, Mom, Jessica and David.

~ Michael (on the left) and his friend/teammate Matthew when they played soccer...but preferred to watch trains. 1998; Mississauga, ON; Canada.

This was my Dad, as a younger man, in 1962. He died 13 years ago on May 25th, when he was 82, and I still don't feel comfortable with what to say. I did make sure his ashes were buried where he wanted, and six years later, when my mother died, I buried her ashes with his and placed a marker (headstone) for both of them.

What can I say? My Dad was probably untreated bipolar. He had a violent temper. He was alcoholic. He had a good sense of humor. He idolized my Mom, and was jealous of time she might spend with anyone but him. When he wasn't idolizing her, he was running her down in front of anyone who would listen. That included us children. He was demanding. He was tyrannical. He could be tender. He read stories to us when we were little, and gave us "horsie-back" rides on the shag carpet in our living room, also when we were little. He had a flair for decorating, and making places look nice. He taught me to tie my shoes, and to spell "separate" correctly, and what 7 x 8 was. He taught me how to clean my fingernails well. He hated cats. He loved our Dachshund. He was a social climber. He was a racist. He was a phony. He was a fabulous cook. He had very low self-esteem, and was constantly seeking approval from me, and anyone else who would give it to him. He taught me horrible untruths about sexuality. He was so critical I hated the days when he came home from work before my Mom got home. Three times in my life, he told me not to ever darken his door again. Years would go by where he would not speak to me. It was impossible to reason with him. He told me if there was one thing he couldn't abide, it was a liar. Then later, he would ask me to lie for him to cover something he had done. I had to walk on eggshells most of the time he was around. If I went to shop for new clothes for school with my Mom, he had to go too, and sit right outside the dressing room waiting to also give his opinion on each dress or skirt.

He thought nothing of criticizing me in front of other people, and would do so about my clothing, my speech, the way I smiled, the hobbies I was involved in, my weight, my first husband, etc.

But you know, he was my Dad. And for many birthdays, he knew I loved roast lamb, and would cook one especially for my birthday dinner. Here I am crying now, and I still don't know what to say. Maybe if I just keep saying stuff, it will all come out right.

Anyone else out there have conflicting feeling about their parents?