Jazz is so much a part of my existence. Isaac Jenkins, my high-school music teacher, is a hero to me. He introduced me to jazz and taught me that hard work makes for beautiful music, a lesson I re-learn every day. I love him for that.

Whenever I'm writing or reading or talking with someone, I think in jazz riffs, trading fours, short or extended solos, the utility of a big band or a quartet. Jazz for me is kind of a paradigm for interacting. I think of rhythm when I make presentations, when I lecture. That give and take of intellectual discourse is mirrored in jazz. It also reminds me that both parties in a dialogue have an equally vital role; whether I'm talking with a student, or conducting an interview, or talking to one of my kids, we're equal partners in that dialogue.

My dad is still the man I want to be when I grow up. But as I get older, I realize how much like my mother I am. They played a crucial role in my life. My grandparents on my mother's side were tenant farmers who raised a dozen children and six grandchildren and lived through Jim Crow and other sweeping changes. They were married for seventy-three years. Their lives are a testament to strength and family and love.