A colleague was recently telling me a story of a man whose son years ago was growing weary of balancing the rigors of college with two part-time jobs.
Here was a typical day for this 19-year-old student:
His mornings would begin in the pre-dawn dark, in the middle of the night, really, delivering newspapers out of his beat-up 1977 Chevy Malibu. After the final paper was tossed, he’d race home, shower, change and grab a Pop-Tart or bagel on the way out to class.