The 1970s, the decade of my teenage years, was a transitional period in American youth culture.

My fellow students there were very smart, but the really novel thing was that they actually seemed to put a lot of effort into their school work. By the end of my first semester there, I began to get into that habit as well.

As it was, I realized choosing the study of Chinese literature as my life's work was probably a mistake.

I certainly remember building model rockets. It was fun to watch the rocket blast into the air, suspenseful to wonder if the parachute would open to bring the rocket safely back.

I was born in Palo Alto, California in 1961.

I was partly old-fashioned and partly modern.

Travel provided many interesting experiences, but perhaps the most useful lesson I learned was that I really had no proficiency for learning the thousands of characters of the written Chinese language.