Michael Sandor

ALWAYS LAUGH. I was three years old when my mother died. Most people would assume that's where my story begins—with loss. But I've learned that life is not defined by what happens to us. It's defined by what we choose to do next. I grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area with three sisters and a village of grandparents who refused to let us feel alone. One set moved into our home from Chicago. The other waited for me every summer in Branson, Missouri. They taught me that love doesn't always come from where you expect it, but it arrives when you need it most. As a child, I was apparently conducting a long-running experiment to determine how much damage one human body could endure. In third grade, I sliced open my knee on a sprinkler head playing a game called "Bumper People." Twenty-five stitches later, I missed Boy Scout camp and learned my first lesson in disappointment. Then, in seventh grade, an escalator at Candlestick Park removed my big toe. Surgeons put it back on, for which I remain grateful. Unfortunately, they couldn't do much about its appearance or the pain. For the next twenty years, my toe looked like it had been borrowed from an alien or a large bird. Life can be cruel. Life can also be hilarious. You get to choose which part you focus on. Then, in 1986, while serving in the United States Air Force, I was diagnosed with testicular cancer. Suddenly, the little setbacks didn't seem so important. Cancer was different. Cancer demanded courage. For two years I fought. In 1988, I was declared cancer-free. People sometimes call cancer survivors brave, but I've never thought of myself that way. I simply kept putting one foot in front of the other—admittedly one foot with a very strange-looking toe. What I learned is that resilience isn't built during the hardest moments of life. It's built beforehand. Every loss, every scar, every setback prepares you for the next challenge. Later that same year, I began a career with a major airline. I married, built a life, and became the father of two extraordinary sons. They are smarter than I am. Kinder than I am. Better men than I ever expected to help raise. And that may be the accomplishment of which I am most proud. When I look back on my life, I see loss. I see scars. I see cancer. I see an escalator that still owes me an apology. But more than anything, I see love. I see grandparents who stepped up. I see family who never quit. I see a life that kept moving forward. The words on my arm say "ALWAYS LAUGH" because laughter is not the absence of pain. It's the refusal to let pain have the final word. Life will knock you down. It may even take a toe. But if you can learn to laugh, keep going, and trust the people who love you, you'll discover something remarkable: You are stronger than what happened to you.