Among the milestones of childhood — your first lost tooth, first bike ride, first day of school — burning down the family home doesn't usually make the list. But growing up on a farm in Idaho, my childhood wasn't exactly typical.

I was eight. I hadn't done anything intentionally reckless — just left a lampshade-less reading lamp resting on a pillow. On my way downstairs to breakfast, I left the light on. A little while later, my dad smelled smoke. By the time help arrived, the fire had consumed everything. Our home was gone.

What amazes me most now isn't the fire — it's what my father chose to do afterward.

I didn't find out it was my fault until I was 16.

Apparently, the fire chief had advised my father not to tell me right away. The emotional weight of responsibility at that age could've been damaging. I'm grateful my dad waited. His decision wasn't just kind — it was strategic. It allowed me to grow up without carrying a burden I wasn't ready to process.

Looking back, I see this now as a masterclass in leadership. Not the kind they teach in business school — but the kind that matters most when you're running a company, managing people and deciding how to handle

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