My Dad always worked with cool stuff—all kinds of scientific equipment deep in basement labs. It was always kind of awesome and mysterious to visit him at work. Sometimes he would tell the neatest adventure stories (with him as the star) after dinner as we were sitting around the table, maybe eating dessert. His work also took him to places all over the world, and we got to go with him a lot of the time. He had a house built for us to live in, just as his father did. I thought that was a cool thing to do, and I’ve always felt like I’m supposed to do that, too, although I haven’t.
He also never tired of telling me of this dream he had when I was born. He was approaching the bassinet, which he believed I was in, and there was a sign on the bassinet that said “genius.” I was never to match up to this idea, which he never said directly, but also never praised me. In fact, he often scorned me for my lack of manners or what he called my wiseguy ways. He never took me seriously as a youth. So I don’t remember too much specific. I think I’ve blocked it out—or maybe it’s just my bad memory. My strongest memories are kind of general impressions.