My God! They shot the President!

When the bulletin from Dallas broke into the kid's show on our black-and-white TV, Mom screamed and ran in from the kitchen. My first memory is her explaining who the president was, what assassins did, and how death awaits us all. Our tears fell, then fell harder six months later when my Pop passed away.

"You're the man of the house now, with big shoes to fill” They said.

But none of Them would tell me how.

Austerity measures like switching to powdered milk always felt like my fault, until an ad in a comic book for the Junior Sales Club of America introduced me to my Ikigai. Overcoming my fear of talking to strangers, I began selling greeting cards door-to-door at the tender age of eight. 

Time froze when I knocked on that first door. Mrs. Andrews seemed bigger than ever as she scrutinized my greeting card samples. Handing the samples back was my cue to ask her to buy a box. So I did.

She said No. I asked her “Why the heck not?”

“Because I want two.”

Was I now taller, or floating, or both? Confidence and self-esteem soared with each subsequent sale. Dragging my empty wagon home with a pocket full of loot, I felt like a pirate.

Selling since the Summer of Love, tales of my sales adventures await you here, and merchandise with my designs is available to amuse or annoy.