When I was eighteen, I dropped out of high school with a 0.9 GPA—that’s a D-minus average. Before I was old enough to drink, I had held ten different minimum-wage jobs while trying to support a wife and son. Another son arrived when I was twenty-one. At the lowest point in my life, I was on welfare and working as an in-home nursing assistant performing enemas for $6.45 an hour.
