Before the software company.
Before the investment accounts.
Before the Ferrari.
His father, Samuel Carter, worked as an automobile mechanic for thirty-eight years. He specialized in repairing vehicles other shops had given up on, especially older engines whose owners couldn't afford expensive replacements.
Samuel wasn't wealthy.
He often came home with grease on his hands and aching shoulders.
But he believed that mechanical problems could usually be understood if someone took enough time to examine them carefully.
He taught Malik the same lesson when the boy was seven.
They stood beside an old Chevrolet that refused to start.
Malik watched his father work.
"Dad, why don't you just buy a new car?"
Samuel laughed.
"With what money?"
Malik shrugged.
"You're always fixing cars."
His father smiled.
"Exactly. That doesn't mean I'm rich."
Then he pointed toward the engine.
"Tell me what's wrong with it."
Malik stared.
"I don't know."
Samuel nodded.
"Good answer."
The boy frowned.
His father continued.
"Knowing you don't know something is how you start learning."
He placed a wrench in Malik's hand.
"Now we check."
For the next hour, Samuel showed his son how to examine the obvious things before inventing complicated explanations.
Battery connections.
Fuel.
Ignition.
A loose wire that eventually proved to be the cause.
When the engine finally started, Malik jumped with excitement.
Samuel smiled.
"See?"
Malik nodded.
"You fixed it!"
His father shook his head.
"We found out what was wrong. Then we fixed it."
Those words remained with Malik long after he left the neighborhood.
His mother, Denise Carter, worked as an elementary school administrator.
She was a patient woman with a firm voice and an extraordinary ability to remember the names of children whose parents rarely attended school meetings.
She believed education was more than memorizing information.
It was learning how to question things responsibly.
When Malik was twelve, she found him sitting at the kitchen table with a broken computer.
He'd purchased it from a neighbor for twenty dollars.
The machine wouldn't start.
His mother watched him remove the side panel.
"What are you doing?"
"Trying to fix it."
"Do you know how?"
"Not yet."
She smiled.
Then placed a plate of food beside him.
"All right. Just don't electrocute yourself."
Malik laughed.
He spent three evenings examining the computer, reading library books, and learning how its components worked.
Eventually, he discovered a failed power supply.
A replacement purchased from a repair shop brought the machine back to life.
He was thrilled.
But what fascinated him most wasn't the repair.