At 11 years old I didn’t think of my proposal to set up a concession stand at the weekend basketball tournaments as a business concept. I thought of it as a grandiose money-making scheme that would garner untold riches, already spent in my head on model rockets and fancy colored pencils. My mother, however, only agreed to support my venture under the terms of garnished wages. While I would receive a modest reward, most of the profits would be put into a college savings account, untouchable for what at the time appeared to be an eternity. With an unusually acute awareness of the importance of this savings account that would someday buy me a one way ticket out of small town New Mexico, I agreed without protest.