Even though I basically worked throughout my teens, those jobs meant nothing more to me than necessary money in my pocket. Grade school on through middle and high school had a few distinct and defining moments for where my life was headed and how I would get there.

The truth was, by fifth grade I knew what I wanted to do for a living. I remember our class was chosen to put on a play for the entire school and parents, so what better choice than Alice in Wonderland. Actually it was some sort of bizarre mash-up of Alice mixed with a few random outspoken time travelers. Apparently, there was no drug testing for the schoolteachers back in the 1980s.

Every student had a role in the play, and I felt mine was a rather pivotal one. No, not The White Rabbit or King of Hearts, or even The Cheshire Cat, I had a role created specifically for me, but not for the reasons one may think. I remember approaching my rather hardass teacher Ms. Wilson and politely asking her for one of the leading roles. Without even looking in my direction, she let me know that there were some “really talented kids who can actually act” in the class and they'd be getting the bigger parts. But since she'd seen me wear a brown vest at the Christmas Show, she thought I'd be perfect to play a new character added to the play called “The Brown Rabbit.” The Brown Rabbit had one scene where he brought tea to Alice and The White Rabbit, and if my MTV-fried brain recalls correctly, his one and only line was, “Here's some tea for you.” During rehearsals, I crushed that line, delivering it with identical, Brown Rabbit–like stoic monotony every single time.

Then when show night arrived, something happened, not sure how or why, but it just did. A few beats before I was to make my entrance, I was handed a tray of teacups filled with water. Then all I heard was, “Brown Rabbit get out there!” I slowly entered the stage, set the tray down, handed out two cups of tea and delivered my line with ease. After Alice thanked me for the tea, I was supposed to exit the stage, but for some reason, I picked up a cup for myself, downed it, and as I started to walk off stage, I said, “Ahhh, now that's some dang good eatin'.” The next moment felt as if it was in slow motion. Off stage, I saw Ms. Wilson's incensed eyes lock onto mine Terminator-style, and I knew I'd be getting the paddle. But then something unexpected occurred. The entire auditorium erupted with laughter and applause. Her glare turned into a semi-approving smirk and she gave me a light backhand slap to my head as I passed by walking off stage.

The feeling I got that day was one that I've remembered my entire life, and it still gives me goosebumps thinking about it. I wanted that feeling. I wanted to do this for a living. I wanted to entertain people. But not just entertain them, I wanted to walk that fine line between getting applause and getting the paddle. Because if there's no chance in either occurring, then what's the point in attempting it? I wholeheartedly felt that this was what I was meant to do.

Seeing Is Believing, But Feeling Is Knowing

A few years later, I had what I would consider to be an enlightening premonition. I know what you're thinking. “Dan, isn't that a bit dramatic? I get that you wanted to be an actor, but bruh, c'mon, an enlightening premonition?” Yes, it's a bit dramatic, but I'm really not sure how else to describe it.

I was in the car with my mother, we were on our way back to Pittsburgh from my sister's house in Ohio. As we rolled down the onramp of exit 234 on the Ohio Turnpike and headed home, I was overcome with a feeling of what I would describe as, warmth and positive affirmation associated with what my life would become. I recall my mother asking why I was so quiet, so I told her about what had occurred. Then, I'm not sure why, but I felt the need to let her know that I was going to be fine and that she wouldn't have to worry about me in the future. I concluded my response by expressing that it was okay for me to follow my dream of being an entertainer, because the premonition let me know that it was what I was meant to do. To which my beautiful mother kindly replied, “If that's what you want to do, then I'm sure you will, sweetie.”

As odd as it seems re-reading that, I truly believe with all of my being that something in the Universe communicated with me that day, and I've never doubted it for a second since. As my life sped forward, I always felt that my future had a safety net. I'm not sure if it was someone or something guiding me, but it put my young teenage mind, surprisingly at ease. It sounds silly, it sounds naïve, it might even sound irresponsible and egotistical, but it made sense to a teenager with newfound confidence and helped to build strength and character that would become necessary as I entered high school.

I Lived in the Principal's Office…Literally

All of us who've gone to high school, no matter what year or what town, know of the stresses that accompany those awkward years. They're by no means easy times, but they're times when many of us are tested by life to help us discover what type of person we are and what we're made of.

All of that being said, my high school years were just a bit different than the average student, as my journey came with an obstacle that very few have ever experienced. As I alluded to earlier in the book, my father was an extremely hard-working man who always put his family ahead of himself. In wanting the best for all of us, he constantly kept striving for more, so much so that after many years of teaching and coaching, he became a high school principal…MY high school principal. Yep, let that sink in and simmer in the third-period study hall of your brain for a sec. Puberty, zits, Peter Brady–like voice cracks, and B.O. all took a back seat to the stress of having my dad as my principal.

I remember the morning of my first day of high school like it was yesterday. I walked into the kitchen for breakfast where my father was waiting for me with a smile on his face that could've graced Hollywood movie posters. He's a good lookin Dego, for sure. The aroma that filled the kitchen was a sweet mixture of freshly brewed coffee and Brut cologne. Actually, reading that, it doesn't sound so sweet, but damn it, he rocked it, and somehow he made it work like a badass. He gave me a hug, then put his Andre the Giant−sized mitts on my shoulders.

We shared a laugh at that joke I'd heard a hundred times, but it got my mind off of the pressures of the day, albeit briefly. He turned around, swooped a brown-bag lunch off of the kitchen counter, and handed it to me. Dad made my lunch practically every day of high school so that my mom would have one less thing to worry about as she got ready for work. It was always the same thing per my request, two PB&J's, a bag of greasy ass, generic potato chips, and whatever Hostess or Little Debbie snack was on sale at Giant Eagle that week. Looking back, maybe my diet had something to do with my Clearasil poster-boy good looks.

My dad downed the rest of his coffee and headed to the door, then he paused, looked over his shoulder at me, and suddenly turned into Robert De Niro from Godfather II.

Dad: “Listen. We don't have any problems at school, then we don't have any problems at home. Capisci?”

I nodded my head in agreement, then he winked at me, smiled, and left. If there was one thing I knew as a teenager, it was the importance of recognizing when my father meant business. Even though he spoke calmly, I knew this was one of those times.

Fortunately, I understood the pressures of his job as well. How could he expect parents to respect him disciplining their kids if he couldn't control his own? The fact that we were both on the same page and understood that we had each other's back strengthened our relationship through those challenging years. Plus, I was driven to succeed to make him and my mother as proud as I possibly could.

Truthfully, it was pretty damn cool to have my father as my principal, whether it was busting my balls as I'd try to talk to a girl at her locker or occasionally having me called out of class to his office just to tell me that he loved me. I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. I was blessed to have both of my parents at every game, every dance, every school event, and I loved it. It created a special bond between us that I attempt to mirror with my own children.

As my high school years came to a close, I was a three-year letterman in two sports, never missed the honor roll, and never had one day of detention. I remember all of those times often and with great fondness. My freshman year at the University of North Carolina and my first-semester 1.8 GPA is another story, but I prefer to end this chapter on a high note, capisci?