As far as I can recall, my father always had white hair. When I was only five years old, he was already fifty—yet he refused to act his age. I remember playing basketball with my father at the nearby courts of our humble apartment. He used to urge me to get my head out of the books and go out to the track and run alongside him. Although he was decades older than me, his energy was infectious.
Like myself, in his younger years my father was all about adventure. When he hit 28 and felt lost in his career, he signed up for the army and volunteered for Vietnam. What possessed him to go to a war torn country and dodge bullets is anyone’s guess, but I imagine that he was hungry for what most young people my age are looking for now: excitement, travel, and meaningful work.