“Princeton! My goodness,” the teacher would say. “That must have been quite something!” You had to let him get it out, but once he started in on how brilliant and committed you must be it was time to hold up your hands, saying, “Oh, it isn’t that hard to get into.” Then he’d say, “Really? But I heard —” “Wrong,” you’d tell him. “You heard wrong. It’s not that great of a school.” This was the way it had to be done. You had to play it down, which wasn’t easy when your dad was out there, reading your acceptance letter into a bullhorn. I needed to temper his enthusiasm a bit, and so I announced
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