When I was sixteen, I had a tedious summer job sorting out bits and pieces of hardware … this bolt in this bin … that screw in that bin. Boring, but I did my best and I appreciated the pay. Once, a man came and watched me work. He didn’t say who he was so I paid him no mind, I just worked right along. He didn’t speak until he turned to go. He said, “I like your style.” That’s all he said to me. I’ve not forgotten those words. I’ve since said those same words to one or two young men.