Maybe I was twenty years old. I was in a car just blocks from the home I had grown up in. To really make matters worse I was with my girlfriend. Suddenly I was sobbing uncontrollably. I had to pull the car over.
The memory is as clear as if it had all happened yesterday.
Now I've bragged here before that I'll tell anybody anything. I would tell you what I was crying about if I knew. I've got theories of course.
Childhood was over. Well, it should have been. There are women out there who will argue that that wasn't it.
Therapists that I have shared time and money with over the years will tell you that I've never come to terms with the absence of a father in my life. I thought I did okay with Father Knows Best, The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriett and Leave It To Beaver.
At this point in my life I had only been a vegetarian for a couple of years. I can tell you with a straight face that I've never gotten over a single stray dog or cat that I've passed on the road. Sinclair Lewis' The Jungle rattled me to my core. I've always known in my heart that I'm responsible for the well being of all creatures. All of them. Me.
Oh, I could rattle on. I suppose my point, if, again, I have a point, is that I'm not a particularly well adjusted adult. That's alright. I will always believe that we have a lot to learn from the children.