I started yammering about growing up in Kentucky in a gas station and how we didn’t have money and how hard I had to work to become the first person from my family to graduate from college. Contrasting this, of course, with all the wonderful things Kelly had. She patiently listened to my diatribe, instinctively letting me vent. When I was finished, she said, “Daddy, it’s not my fault you make money.”
