When I hear the word prosperity, my mind doesn’t flash to yachts or stock portfolios. Instead, it brings up a very specific memory from second grade—one filled with velvet, a funeral, and a heartfelt family decision that, at the time, felt incredibly grown-up to me.

We lived on Cherokee Road. My little sister was two and a half. That December, my grandpa passed away peacefully at home in his favorite chair. My mom had just gotten a beautiful new coat that I admired with all my little-kid longing. For the funeral, I got one of my own—a rust-colored velvet coat with a fluffy collar. It was fancy. It was beautiful. It made me feel important.

From a kid’s perspective, life felt steady and safe. When I really wanted something, I usually got it. My family was stable. My world was small and secure.

Then, a few months later, Mom sat me down for a heart-to-heart.

Dad had been in the “manager trainee” program at JCPenney, working full-time there while also hanging draperies on his day off and in the evenings. He had just been offered a promotion and transfer—to Council Bluffs, Iowa.

Council Bluffs? What even was that? Iowa? Where was that?