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THE LESSON LEARNED ABOUT UNDERLINING THE POSITIVE
When I started my business, I saw myself as the iC Queen of New York Real Estate." I pictured myself in great detail including the clotho I'd wear to address an audience of thousands of people eager to hear my expert advice. I imagined a long line of people waiting to kiss my
ring, just as I had seen them kissing the pope's ring on TV. Although I never had an official business plan, my imagination provided a crystal-clear picture of where I wanted to go.
As a kid, I was made to feel like an outsider because I was different. In business, Fve become known as an innovator because of that difference. What Sister Stella Marie called "stupid," I would later discover was "dyslexic." Fve since learned that children who struggle with written information and facts almost always have great imaginations. They can see the big picture, think outside the box, and with just a little encouragement, can learn to use their fertile imaginations to fill in the blanks. Although Fm still a painfully slow reader, I can read a person, size up a situation, and invent a new idea quicker than a wink.
My mother was wise enough to identify my special gift of creativity and underline it. In doing so, she turned my "stupidity" into my greatest strength. Fve succeeded because of my learning difference, not despite it.
pearls from their original strand, washed them in a small bowl filled with soapy water, and rolled them dry on the towel. Next, I laid out the pearls in size order, the biggest in the middle, the smallest at the ends, and threaded each pearl on a white silk string using a thin wire needle. I tied a knot tightly and evenly against each pearl, locking it into place, until I completed a perfect strand.
One night while stringing, Vicki told me that Ray had taken the name of her third husband, Mr. Simon.
"Simon?" I asked, an errant pearl hitting her linoleum with a tink. "I thought it was 'Simone.' "
"Oh no, his name was 'Simon.' He was from 185th Street and Amsterdam Avenue."
A few months later, Ray's mom gave her son a second chance as a developer by letting him put a second mortgage on her vintage colonial on Main Street.
When Ray got back on his feet, his two oldest daughters came to live with us. We moved out of Vicki's house in Hackensack and into a new high-rise apartment in Fort Lee, not far from the Fort Lee Diner. Each morning, I drove across the George Washington Bridge into Manhattan and each night I returned home in time to make dinner.
In my awkward new role as stepmom, I regularly sat at the dining room table helping Rays daughters with their homework. His eleven-year-old, Laura, was having trouble reading, so I recounted the story of Sister Stella Marie and tried to do what my mom had done for me. "Laura, don't worry about it," I told her. "You're a very hard worker, and that will get you through almost anything. Besides, you're so good with the big words, I bet one day you'll be a doctor!" Seeing her face light up made the many nights of doing homework worthwhile.
Ray rarely came into the Corcoran-Simone office anymore, other than to sign checks. He was working late more frequently, often meeting with his carpenters, plumbers, and electricians. But he always got home in time to kiss the girls good-night. One Tuesday, Ray
came home unusually early, at 6:30. I was in the kitchen pulling the spaghetti off the stove.
"I have something I need to speak with you about," he told me seriously.
"Surer I said, dumping the spaghetti into the colander.
"I'm going to marry Tina." My hands went limp, and I sloshed the spaghetti into the sink.
"Tina? Tina, my secretary?" I stammered. "I-I don't understand."
He shifted his weight and put his hands in his pockets. "I guess you should start looking for an apartment or something," he continued. "But take your time."
"It'll take five minutes" was all I could muster.
The next morning, I couldn't lift my head, and