By Molly Freedenberg
My Dad was one of those people who cared about money and the success he thought it implied. The doctor son of an East Coast Jewish family, he seemed to think his red BMW, sprawling SoCal house, and ski cabin timeshare in mammoth proved he was, indeed, the golden child his (almost entirely female) family always told him he was.
Me? I never cared much for the trappings (and pressure) of upper class society. I just hoped to one day earn enough income to pay for the basics -- plus a weekly spa treatment and really nice sheets. Read more »