The only way my dad knew how to show love …… was through money.

Money was his universal emotional language, the medium for his apologies, appeasements, grief, guilt, joy, love, pride, and attempts at reconciliation.

I always struggled to see the value in what he was offering. Despite everything that happened in my childhood, I craved a genuine connection.

For my step-brothers, though, money was enough.

They used to say, “If Dad can’t express his feelings, his money works just fine for me.”

Growing up, we never struggled financially. My father was a veterinarian with a practice that boasted two locations in Palo Alto, California, and my stepmother was a successful nightclub singer. Their professional achievements ensured we always had enough.

They owned two cabins in Lake Tahoe, where we took annual family vacations, and the adults often traveled to Europe and Hawaii.

We had a nanny for many years.

I attended a public school in a typical working-class community in Los Altos, California.

However, just up in the hills of Los Altos were genuine mansions and gated communities full of them.

The driveways showcased fancy cars, and the dining rooms were immaculately decorated. Many fathers were professionals in Palo Alto or San Jose, while the mothers typically stayed home. This was the world I knew from age 12 to 17.

Even as a child, I could see that none of the five children or two adults in our house were happy. My stepmother, Dotti, resented being a stay-at-home mom, didn’t want the responsibility of two more children (George and me), and was emotionally numb due to her alcoholism. Our home was a place of constant turmoil, with frequent visits from the police. Dotti was always in fight mode, drinking and taking drugs. I tried to keep George and myself away from her as much as possible. Most of my free time was spent hitchhiking to the hills of Cupertino, where I found an affordable horseback riding stable and would rent a horse to ride all day. I had few friends.

Starting at age 13, my father had me working for him whenever possible, and I babysat often.

Money didn’t interest me much; I earned it mainly to have fun or to buy things for others.

Money always brought happiness to my dad and Dotti. My father, who had many friends, mostly other veterinarians, worked as many hours as possible every day of the year to avoid being at home. He employed other veterinarians, but that didn’t change his relentless work schedule.

My older stepsister, Kathy, left home at 16 to live with her grandmother in Florida.

She and my father constantly clashed. One night, after locking herself in the bathroom and cutting herself, my dad broke down the door, called the police, and had her taken to juvenile hall. Shortly after that incident, she moved to Florida.

I grew up indifferent to money and didn’t notice when my financial perspective changed.

I always knew I wanted to be self-employed and never wanted to answer to anyone.

In my 20s, I often pondered, “What would it look like to live my dreams?”