Precious moments. That’s what life is all about. Your first step. Your first word. Your first bike ride with no training wheels. The first time you hold a pretty girl’s hand. When she rests her head on your chest and you smell a fruity scent on her braided hair. The new or hand-me-down car you get—that first gear you shift, grabbing the wheel with both hands, grandma style. It’s beautiful. But that’s not my story; mine can be summarized in five-year increments, not in fragmented moments.