I come from a polite Midwestern family. We never argue. We acknowledge each other’s viewpoint and honor each other’s truth. But to the pantheon of complaints children lodge against their parents (affairs, abandonment, forgotten birthdays), I’m adding this: unbridled optimism. My parents believe in the power of positive thinking.

Some fathers sing in the shower; mine recited his desired salary. While managing other people’s companies, he tried to sell a screenplay, build websites and write self-help books. One year he declared he would write three best sellers. I gently suggested he try writing a single chapter.

My mother directed programming for senior citizens, but she planned to launch her own greeting card line and publish children’s books based on the family pets. When she started a business making men’s belts, she thought her design might sweep the nation, so she pursued a patent. Now they have 400 belts sitting in the basement.

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Maybe it’s silly for me to bash optimism. After all, my parents’ optimism enabled me to take risks and led to many successes in my life. “Someone has to get the job,” my mother always said, and on occasion that person was me. “Someone has to win the contest,” she would say. “Why not you?”