My dad worked in a factory his whole life. But he lit up like a Christmas tree whenever he helped somebody buy a car. Lining up a good used car for a friend or relative, checking it out, working out the details, acting as a go-between for buyer and seller: he loved all that.

People always used to say that he should've been a car salesman -- he woulda been the world's only honest one! And when I was little, I wondered why he wasn't one, why he never even tried to be one. Sometimes I wondered if this was a failure on his part, that he never went for his ideal career doing what he loved.

But maybe he was like me, and he actually preferred things the way they were. And why not.