My mother always believed in me. She may have been an alcoholic, but she believed in me. During high school, a lot of kids went downtown to take an aptitude test. We took the test in an old brick building east of Main Street. After the test, I came out and there was Mother on the sidewalk waiting for me, purse hanging from her wrist.

“Well,” she said. “What’d they tell you?”

“I can be a teacher – or a doctor,” I said. “I can be a doctor.”

“What did I tell you? A doctor. Why, you’re smarter than all of them. These other girls are all coming out saying they’re going to be beauty shop operators.”

My mother had been standing out there questioning every girl that took the test. She knew she’d been right to believe in me.