It was 1963, and I was sitting on the couch watching a Giants-Dodgers game. My father, a lean man with a deep olive complexion, black hair, and a sharp hawk-like nose, sat down next to me. Occasionally, he would give me a brief lecture about life, and this was one of them. Well, I wasn’t interested; Sandy Koufax was pitching, and Willie Mays was at the plate. Still, I knew I had to at least pretend to listen.

“If you’re lucky, you’ll have three things that will shape your life forever. There’s nothing more important than these aspects of existence that will give you something more than merely being; it will be thriving.”

At the time, I was 12 years old, often dreaming, and he wanted to wake me from my constant fantasy. Even for a 12-year-old, I was spacey—constantly looking around. Sometimes I listened; often, I didn’t. This time, it was different.