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I always like to say that my mother gave me three important things: a lifelong love of reading, learning, and music. These are three very special gifts.

I also saw in my mother a commitment to service. She was a leader in a local chapter of the woman’s group PEO (Philanthropic Educational Organization). Founded in 1869 in Iowa, its mission was to promote educational opportunities for women. In my mother’s day, there were plenty of people who didn’t think much of the idea of women going to college, and PEO’s platform was somewhat controversial in some circles. And so my mom was very secretive about this PEO “sisterhood.” She wouldn’t tell me what they stood for, what they did, what happened at their meetings, or who attended. There was a desire by these women to be quiet about their work. Looking back, I salute them for the work they did to encourage young women to fulfill their potential, but I realize theirs was a form of feminism that hadn’t yet found its full-throated voice.

My mother was an advocate for children, too. She believed that young kids could handle more responsibility than adults might imagine. She saw this in her first graders, but she felt it long before she was a teacher.

From the time I was very young, she and my dad impressed upon me the importance of looking after my sister, who was just twenty-one months younger. My father had the traditional sense that men should take care of women. And so he anointed me a kind of “second dad.” But my mother just thought children can rise to the responsibilities they’re given.

“When we’re not around, we’re counting on you,” my mom would tell me. My dad would say, “You’re in charge.”

I wasn’t always the perfect older brother. When I was five and Mary was three, I once took her out to play in the gravel on Hanna Drive. Some of the stones were smaller than a pea, and I thought it would be fun to feed these tiny stones to my sister. My mom caught me and told me a five-year-old should know better than that. Maybe I did know better, but at that age, feeding gravel to your kid sister doesn’t necessarily seem like a bad way to pass the time.

My sister now says that I was a pretty good big brother most of the time. She thinks that looking after her helped me develop the sense of responsibility that has carried me through life, and into my career as a pilot. A couple of times as a teen, she went out with guys who were too forward, or who weren’t completely respectful. I took it upon myself to go talk to them and set them straight. My sister feels that even when the two of us were arguing, I was protective and committed to keeping her safe.

We weren’t a hugely demonstrative family when it came to showing affection. But we were there for one another, and we felt a sure sense of duty. We also had faith in one another. My mother knew my capabilities and encouraged me to have confidence in them. That’s why she was comfortable flying as my passenger when I was a teenager. She knew that I knew I could do it.

My sister also was never afraid to fly with me. “Maybe it’s the invincibility of youth,” she now tells me, “and I just figured nothing could happen to me. But I think the main reason I had no fear is because I had an innate confidence in you. I knew you’d protect me.”

I WAS very sure of myself and directed as a kid in the 1960s. I expected to serve in the military and then be a commercial pilot. Looking back, I think I was a very earnest, serious boy still struggling to figure out where I fit in the world.

In one eighth-grade school essay, titled “The Way I Am,” I wrote: “I have good habits as well as bad ones. Being polite is one of my good points. My parents have taught me the manners I should know. I think my table manners are what they should be.

“I have bad habits, too. I am not very patient sometimes with other people. I would like to do everything exactly right, and I would like others to do the same. I should realize that everyone is not perfect.

“I know many people who have better personalities than I do,