And worked hard to give their children more opportunities than they had enjoyed.
Their home contained secondhand furniture, overflowing bookshelves, and a dining-room table that became a workspace after dinner.
Her father loved explaining mechanical systems.
He taught his daughter how engines worked.
Why bridges needed regular inspections.
And how maintenance could prevent small problems from becoming disasters.
Her mother taught her something different.
How to notice people.
The elderly patient who pretended she understood medical instructions because she was embarrassed to ask questions.
The exhausted parent who needed help completing a form.
The hospital cleaner who worked through the night and rarely received thanks.
The CEO remembered accompanying her mother to a hospital holiday celebration when she was nine.
The event was held in a modest community room decorated with paper snowflakes and colorful lights.
A hospital administrator gave a speech praising the doctors.
Then the nurses.
Then the financial donors.
The audience applauded.
But the administrator never mentioned the cleaning staff who had prepared the room, the kitchen workers who cooked the meal, or the technicians who maintained the building.
Her mother noticed.
Afterward, she approached several of the workers and thanked them personally.
The little girl watched.
Then asked why her mother did that.
Her mother smiled.
"Because someone should."
The child frowned.
"But they were just doing their jobs."
Her mother knelt to her eye level.
"Sweetheart, doing your job doesn't make you invisible."
The girl considered.
Her mother continued.
"Some of the most important people in a building are the ones nobody notices until something breaks."
That lesson remained with her.
Years later, when she became the chief executive of a major infrastructure company, she still remembered it whenever someone described ordinary workers as replaceable.
The word bothered her.
Replaceable.
As though replacing a position meant replacing the human being who depended upon it.
She understood that businesses sometimes had to reorganize.
Jobs changed.
Technology evolved.
Companies succeeded or failed.
But she refused to believe financial necessity excused unnecessary cruelty.
Her father taught her a related lesson.
When she was thirteen, he brought home a broken transit-control component.
He had permission to use it as a demonstration because the part was no longer serviceable.
He placed it on the kitchen table.
Then asked her to identify the failure.
She examined it.
The casing was scratched.
Several connections looked old.
And one narrow metal contact had cracked.
After nearly twenty minutes, she pointed toward the damaged contact.
Her father smiled.
"Good."
She grinned.
"Was I right?"
He nodded.
Then asked another question.
"How much do you think this part costs?"
She guessed.
He shook his head.
"Less than forty dollars."
She looked surprised.
"Really?"
He nodded.
Then continued.
"When this failed, it took a vehicle out of service."
She considered.
He explained that one small component had affected an entire day's operation.
Mechanics had to diagnose the problem.
A replacement had to be installed.