“After my father graduated from medical school, he decided to open an office in a small agricultural community called Coalinga. Both his parents were Mexican immigrants, and he wanted to give back by working in an underserved community. There’s 16,000 people in that town, these are the people who pick the lettuce, and the cotton, and the fruit. I used to love visiting him at work when I was a kid. I can picture him wearing a lab coat, holding a chart, and people thanking him. They’d bring him bags of almonds and onions. He’d keep saying: ‘De nada, de nada, de nada.’ Dad always looks at the ground when he’s being thanked. That’s how humble he is. He went to Stanford, but he doesn’t even hang his graduation certificate in his office. When he comes home from work, he’ll do the jobs around the house that nobody else wants to do. He cleans out the garage. He washes the dishes. He doesn’t drive an expensive car. He doesn’t wear fancy clothes. His favorite things to wear are T-shirts and sweatshirts from our school athletic teams. Both my sister and I played collegiate sports. And he was our biggest fan. Every weekend for eight years, he’d drive to Los Angeles to watch us compete. And my sister was a rower, so those races were only eight minutes long. Dad would wake up at 3 AM, drive almost five hours, watch an eight minute race, then drive all the way home. And then wash the dishes.”
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