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lines. I was so irrepressibly quirky and impossibly tiny for the first ten years or so of my life, most of the adults around me were dubious that I could ever become a fully functioning adult member of society: “What’s he going to do when he grows up—if he grows up?”
    “Don’t worry about him,” Nana would assure them. “Michael will do more in his life than you can ever imagine.” Her pronouncement carried the considerable weight of her reputation in the family as a proven psychic (among other premonitions, during the Second World War, after two of her sons were missing in action and presumed dead, she foretold the exact circumstances of their safe return, the details of which came to her in a dream). Believe it or not, the accuracy of her past predictions secured a great deal of wiggle room for me. Nana died when I was ten, but she had already bequeathed to me the benefit of the doubt when it came to opinions about my prospects. Nana’s unflagging belief in her grandson had a profound effect on the path I chose and the willingness of others to grant me safe passage.
    If not a mentor, then a role model, my brother, Steve, provided an example to be followed. Steve is a solid guy—playing by the rules and enjoying the hell out of life while doing it. In fact, his solidity probably made it easier for me to be a flake: Well, Mike may be a washout, but at least Steve will be all right. My big brother, mensch that he is, never used that as a club against me. Eight years his junior, I always felt (and still do) that Steve likes me. And while I make choices that he might find unconventional and shy away from, he supports me. Always a few years ahead of me in the milestone department, marriage, kids, etc., Steve laid out a primer for how to do things right. He and his wife are devoted to each other. They have a daughter and two sons, the eldest born with special needs. He greeted each challenge with grit, smarts, and compassion. He stepped up for Mom and the rest of us in a big way when our dad passed away. To this day, Steve is the only guy with whom I can spend more than thirty seconds on the telephone. In fact, sometimes our calls stretch on for hours. He’s unaware that he’s mentoring me—we’re just shooting the shit.
    Outside of family, the most significant mentor figure in my life has undoubtedly been Gary David Goldberg who, in his role as creator and executive producer of Family Ties, rescued me from poverty, plucked me from obscurity, and, in many ways, helped to prepare me for challenges and opportunities I never saw coming. Gary was Mr. Miyagi to my Karate Kid, Crash Davis to my “Nuke” LaLoosh, Doc Brown to my Marty McFly…well, no…I guess Christopher Lloyd was Doc to my Marty, but then, Gary had a hand in that too.
    Gary didn’t even want to hire me at first. For the role of Alex Keaton in Family Ties, Gary had Matthew Broderick in mind. When Matthew passed on the role and Gary started to audition other actors, I was the very first of hundreds to read for Alex. Judith Weiner, the casting director, loved my audition. Gary hated it. Weeks went by, and at the end of every fruitless casting session, Judith would get in Gary’s ear and suggest that he give me another shot. Finally, Gary relented and in I went again, broke, starving, and incredibly motivated. Within a matter of minutes, Gary had gone from seeing me only to humor Judith, to being my number one fan.
    Having won Gary over didn’t completely secure my employment. He then had to sell me to a less than enthusiastic NBC, which had serious questions about my prospects as a TV star. “I don’t know, Gary,” said network chief Brandon Tartikoff. “I just can’t see this kid’s face on a lunchbox.” Nonplussed and impatient with the lunchbox criteria, Gary, the indomitable battler, fought for me when it would have been just as easy to appease the higher-ups and move on. The realization that Gary believed in me validated this crazy