excerpt
The renewed quest for a cure became a secret shared between
Francisco, the Portuguese fisherman who became Ken’s mentor and closest
friend, Ken’s father, and himself.
Following a year of inconclusive specialist appointments, a tentative
diagnosis was made that he was suffering from a form of leukaemia. The
three of them were sitting in a favourite spot on top of the cliff on the edge
of the village, watching the constantly moving sea far below. With a sigh,
Ken’s dad voiced his personal frustration.
“I am a man with considerable influence, but in this matter I am
completely powerless. The one thing I love most on earth—you—I can do
nothing for.”
The boy was shocked to see tears trickle from his father’s eyes.
“You are going to have to take command of yourself. You must be as
strong as the whole Roman Empire, Jesus Christ, Buddha, and Krishna all
together. Go deep within yourself. Raise an army to fight these evil creatures
that are destroying your blood.”
The youngster thought this a sensible idea. He would create millions
and millions of little fighters and turn them loose. They would run down his
veins and each time the bad blood cells came out, his good fighters would
slaughter them! Strangely enough, that decision seemed to mark a turning
point.
Whether triggered by the power of positive thought or the clouds of
bromine, similar to iodine, produced by a type of seaweed on that part of the
coast, or something remaining to be discovered—no medical authority was
able to pinpoint the cure. Ken’s body grew stronger and he was no longer
troubled by his mysterious illness.
It seemed entirely logical to Ken that his dad, whom he respected above
all others, had put him in control of his own body and therefore of his life.
And from that time forward, Ken Kirkby refused to acknowledge the right
or responsibility of any other person over his actions, decisions, or the way
he lived his life.
This was the root of his self-reliance. It would wrongly be interpreted
throughout his life as arrogance.

