17-year-old Brennan Agranoff, a colorblind boy, started his custom sock business in middle school, with a small loan (贷款) he got from his Parents. Up till now, he has sold over I million worth of socks onlinein the last four years.

Brennan thought of the idea for his custom sock company at just 13 years old. He was attending a high school basketball game in his hometown of Sherwood, Oregon, and noticed that many kids his age were wearing the same white Nike sport socks. The boy told himself that if these white plain socks were so popular with kids,then some cool custom designs would surely be an even greater hit.

But the boy didn’t tell his parents about the business idea immediately. He spent six months researching things like printing machines and technology and drawing up a business plan. Only when he had everything planned out did he ask his parents for a loan. “They thought the idea was a little out there,” Brennan recently told CNN Money, but he kept pushing, and finally received a S 3,000 loan to start his company. Then he began to work on his own designs. The fact that he was colorblind didnt stop him and he has created over 200 designs now.

Business was slow the first year, but then Brennan started pushing his Hoopswagg products heavily on the other Internet. Orders soon started coming in in large numbers, and Hoopswagg became a popular brand among custom sock lovers. Right now, his designs can be found on Hoopswagg website, Amazon and eBay.

Four years after starting his business, Brennan has achieved great success while balancing schoolhouse chores and his social life. And he says he loved every minute of it.

“Where’s Papa going with the ax?” said Fern to her mother as they were setting the table for breakfast.

“Out to the hog house,” replied Mrs. Arable. “Some pigs were born last night.” “I don’t see why he needs an ax,” continued Fern, who was only eight.

“Well,” said her mother, “one of the pigs is a runt. It’s very small and weak, and it will never amount to anything. So your father has decided to do away with it.” “Do away with it?” shrieked Fern. “You mean kill it? Just because it’s smaller than the others?” Mrs. Arable put a pitcher of cream on the table. “Don’t yell, Fern!” she said. “Your father is right. The pig would probably die anyway.” Fern pushed a chair out of the way and ran outdoors. The grass was wet and the earth smelled of spring time. Fern’s sneakers were sopping by the time she caught up with her father.

“Please don’t kill it!” she sobbed. “It’s unfair.”

Mr. Arable stopped walking. “Fern,” he said gently, “you will have to learn to control yourself.” “Control myself?” yelled Fern. “This is a matter of life and death, and you talk about controlling myself.” Tears ran down her cheeks and she took hold of the ax and tried to pull it out of her father’s hand.

“Fern,” said Mr. Arable, “I know more about raising a litter of pigs than you do. A weakling makes trouble. Now run along!” “But it’s unfair,” cried Fern. “The pig couldn’t help being born small, could it? If I had been very small at birth, would you have killed me?” Mr. Arable smiled. “Certainly not,” he said, looking down at his daughter with love. “But this is different. A little girl is one thing, a little runty pig is another.” “I see no difference,” replied Fern, still hanging on to the ax. “This is the most terrible case of injustice I ever heard of.” A queer look came over John Arable’s face. He seemed almost ready to cry himself.

“All right,” he said.” You go back to the house and I will bring the runt when I come in. I’ll let you start it on a bottle, like a baby. Then you’ll see what trouble a pig can be.” When Mr. Arable returned to the house half an hour later, he carried a carton under his arm. Fern was upstairs changing her sneakers. The kitchen table was set for breakfast, and the room smelled of coffee, bacon, damp plaster, and wood smoke from the stove.

“Put it on her chair!” said Mrs. Arable. Mr. Arable set the carton down at Fern’s place. Then he walked to the sink and washed his hands and dried them on the roller towel.

Fern came slowly down the stairs. Her eyes were red from crying.

As she approached her chair, the carton wobbled, and there was a scratching noise. Fern looked at her father. Then she lifted the lid of the carton. There, inside, looking up at her, was the newborn pig. It was a white one. The morning light shone through its ears, turning them pink.

“He’s yours,” said Mr. Arable. “Saved from an untimely death.

“And may the good Lord forgive me for this foolishness.” Fern couldn’t take her eyes off the tiny pig. “Oh,” she whispered. “Oh, look at him! He’s absolutely perfect.” She closed the carton carefully. First she kissed her father, then she kissed her mother. Then she opened the lid again, lifted the pig out, and held it against her cheek.

I want to talk about a soldier. I saw him yesterday as my husband and I were enjoying a wonderful lunch in the cave-like dining room of an old hotel.

It is hard to imagine being comfortable in a room that probably seats a thousand, but the real magic of the place is its wonderful setting. Every comer is a wood and stone masterpiece, with high glass windows that look out to the huge cliffs of the valley.

A man entered with his family and took a seat. He wasn't in uniform, but he walked with the dignity of a soldier, and a slight limp (瘸). My suspicion was confirmed when he removed his hat and placed it on the table where I could see it. Embroidered (绣) on the cap were the words: "Iwo Jima Survivor".

As they were waiting for lunch, the others talking happily, this gentleman was stating out of the window. He was content to be left out of the conversation and allowed to take in the wonderful and impressive view of the waterfall.

I watched him, and imagined how much horror he had seen in the war. What losses did he suffer, and how many friends did he lose? What he had witnessed should have given him a good reason to lose faith in the world. Yet this tired soldier was smiling at the sky, at the sun and the roaring of the waterfall. Somehow, after everything, the world was still beautiful to him.

I walked over to him and said, "Excuse me, sir. I'm sorry to interrupt, but I saw your hat, and I just wanted to say thank you for serving."

He looked up at me, surprised, and said proudly, "You're welcome, and thank you, too."

I told him I would go home and tell my children about this experience that I'd met him.