My father was funnier than me. My father was Richard Pryor-funny. I'm just a better businessman.

In fact, Parkinson's has made me a better person. A better husband, father and overall human being.

My earliest memories are of my father explaining to me the American Dream and how he expected me to do better than he did.

To me, a Harris Tweed jacket is the kind of thing you should be able to have in your closet years from now - possibly it was your father's jacket or, even better, your grandfather's jacket.

My father was a drill sergeant, and I've always had that mentality drilled into me of 'you've got to do better, you've got to do better.' I just try to listen to the characters. That's what works for me.

When my father died of cancer in 1991, he left me with the assurance that he was headed to a better place. He used to always tell me that I was getting the raw end of the deal because I had to stick around here.

Jackie was speaking at a drugstore, and I said, 'I'm not going to get this opportunity again, so I better take my chances and listen to Jackie Robinson now.' Little did I know, I got front row seats, and next to me was my father.

We lived in Colorado, and my parents were outdoorsy mountain people. My father would always say, 'Go out and don't come back until you have something to show me.' Which meant he wanted me to come back with a scraped knee or an injury. When I went out to play, I felt like I'd better get hurt.

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