On Father’s Day my millionaire son walked into my freezing apartment, saw the tinned soup on the table, and asked how I was managing on the eight thousand a month his wife sends me. I told him nobody sends me anything.

To get Emmett through the end of his degree. And then, in the January of 2017, to stop his software company going under in a week when he could not make payroll for eleven people.

It was about forty thousand dollars. I transferred it on a Thursday and I did not tell him where it had come from and he has never asked.

He turned that into a multimillion-dollar business inside about four years.

I did not help with one single part of that. I gave him money once and he built the rest of it himself, and anybody who tries to give me a share of it will be corrected.

I have never been prouder of anything in my life. Including anything I did myself in forty years of it.