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was good at it right from the start. In fact, I flipped my boat so many times that first year that the kids started calling me “Turnover Turner” and “The Capsize Kid.” But the teasing made me want to get better and I learned from each and every failure. At McCallie, one of my favorite teachers, Houston Patterson, used to take me out on a lake some weekends and he taught me a great deal, too. Through eight years there I never managed to win the Savannah club championship but I came closer every year.
    Sailing also gave me some opportunities to spend some time with my dad and to have some pretty amazing adventures for a little kid. One particularly memorable time my father let me join him, Jimmy, and three other guys on a trip from Savannah to the Bahamas and back. We sailed down to Miami then went across the Gulf Stream. I used to get seasick back then and the ride back was so rough I stayed in my bunk for about thirty-six hours straight. I spent so much time hanging on to that bed that the rest of the guys called me “Sack Leech!” It was rough-going but an unforgettable experience.
    By the time I entered Brown I had probably logged more hours on a sailboat than most of my classmates, and at freshman trials I won every single race, quickly earning the number one slot on the team. We had four regattas and a championship in the fall and another four more regattas and a championship in the spring. We won every regatta we entered and I did well enough to become one of only two sophomores to make the varsity the following year. Successful fall and spring sailing seasons provided bookends to a freshman year in which I really was “Mr. Straight Arrow.” After the intense discipline of McCallie I didn’t find the college workload very challenging. I studied hard and my grades were pretty good.
    That first summer, however, was difficult as my parents’ marriage ended in divorce. Their relationship was never easy. My parents were an unlikely pair to begin with, and my father’s drinking and philandering were hard for my mother to tolerate. His harsh treatment of me was also a bone of contention. Still, my mom fully believed in “for better or for worse” and she did her best to stick it out and maintain some level of harmony.
    Ultimately, it was my sister’s worsening illness that took the greatest toll. Having emerged from that initial coma with significant brain damage, she could barely communicate and meaningful interaction with her became difficult. Along with her mental challenges, the increasing severity of her underlying lupus symptoms made matters worse. As often happens to people stricken with a severe case, Mary Jean’s body literally started fighting itself. This caused extremely painful inflammation in her joints, and as her pain increased she would sometimes bang her head against the wall. The most difficult times for us were when she’d scream, “Please God, let me die!” As hard as it was for me seeing Mary Jean during the holidays and summer, for my parents, her illness was an everyday ordeal. My father was overwhelmed by her suffering and after visiting every medical expert he could find, wanted his daughter institutionalized. My mother refused, insisting that the best person to care for Mary Jean was her own mother and she’d make it her full-time responsibility. My dad had made most of the family’s big decisions in the past but this was one where my mother drew the line. It was a breaking point for my father and they separated.
    My mom moved back to Cincinnati to care for Mary Jean with the help of her extended family. They built a special room for my sister above the garage and had it specially padded and soundproofed. Taking care of Mary Jean was heartbreaking work but my mom was strong and stoic, and would have it no other way.
    Up until this time I had been a religious person and I prayed for Mary Jean’s recovery almost every day. In addition to its military structure, McCallie was a