The Accidental Millionaire is the memoir of Gary Fong, would-be slacker who revolutionized wedding photography, inventor of popular photography aids, entrepreneur, contrarian, bon vivant and a man who really, really didn't want to become a doctor. A first-generation Chinese-American, Gary was raised in one of Los Angeles' least-desirable neighborhoods and was forced to deal—in his own quirky and often very funny way—with the burdens of poverty, crime and his parents' relentless aspirations. These issues almost overwhelmed him until he had a dramatic epiphany. Spotting a bumper sticker that read "Since I gave up hope, I feel much better," Gary promptly did just that. He stopped trying and started succeeding. At turns hilarious, insightful and instructive, The Accidental Millionaire is Horatio Alger-meets-David Sedaris. Turning the traditional self-help principles upside down, The Accidental Millionaire disdains the goal-oriented approaches of traditional self-help philosophies. Sometimes not knowing where you are going is the best possible way to get there. Gary Fong is a globally renowned photographer, inventor and entrepreneur. He is the father of "story-booking," now the industry standard in wedding photography, in which candid shots are arranged in real time to tell a story, as opposed to the archaic method of taking posed, stilted shots. He is also the inventor of the Lightsphere, a specially colored dome that is held in place over the flash unit of a camera. Before long, more than 200,000 units were sold worldwide, thus creating a multimillion-dollar plastics business. Since inventing the Lightsphere, Fong has built a veritable cottage industry around variations on the popular product, including The Origami and The Puffer, all of which have become standard equipment used by most wedding photographers worldwide. He is considered one of the most influential photographers and inventors of his generation. The Accidental Millionaire How to Succeed in Life Without Really Trying By Gary Fong BenBella Books, Inc. Copyright © 2009 Gary Fong All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-1-933771-91-5 CHAPTER 1 My Mom, the Guinea Pig I'm convinced that an only child has formative experiences that are vastly different from those of a child with siblings. First of all, only children spend most of their time around adults, adults who lack the curiosity and sense of wonder that children have. Adults find the everyday world humdrum and mundane, whereas everything is fascinating to a fledgling human. When an adult and a child are constant companions, the child matures faster — and the adult is reduced to blithering infancy. As the mother of an only child, part of my mom's job description was to be my primary playmate. She was a great sport about it. We would play army games for hours, wearing salad bowls on our heads as helmets or sitting under a laundry hamper and pretending I was in a car with a mesh cage. She was fun, and she never gave me the "Okay, that's enough" too soon. She played for as long as I wanted. Little did she know, even after she fell asleep, she continued to be a great source of fun and experimentation. We would take midday naps, and hers always lasted longer than mine. I would lie patiently beside her, waiting for her to wake up so we could play more games. Lying still in bed and waiting for her to awaken got old fast, and I would quickly run out of things within easy reach to play with. All I could get my hands on was this pebbly blanket covered with tiny sweater balls from the washing machine. I soon discovered that these sweater balls could be easily plucked off, and that there was an endless supply of them. No matter how many I plucked, I could not make a dent in the pebble population. "When is Mom going to wake up?" I would wonder, as the sun streamed through the windows. I'd be hyper-bored and anxious to play. Mom's loud breathing through her nostrils would make a wheezing sound that was terribly distracting. Wind would rush in and out through those two air holes. In, out. In, out. Like the tide. So much wind! A veritable natural resource. What a shame it couldn't be harnessed ... A light bulb ignited over my head. I wondered what would happen if I held one of those tiny little sweater balls near her nostrils when the air was going in. Determined to find out, I harvested the perfect sweater-ball specimen — not too big, not too small. Pink and full-bodied. Holding it gently between my finger and thumb, my head cocked at a curious angle, I timed the release of the tiny fabric pellet to one of the "in" cycles of Mom's nostril wheezing. Zoop! Like magic, the little ball was gone! Yay! I plucked another ball, brought it up to her nostril and Bing! Just like magic, it, too, was gone! Now I was hoping Mom wouldn't wake up. I felt like a magician with a new disappearing act. The Vanishing Sweater Ball Trick became my secret ritual. It was endlessly fascinating. I would watch intently a