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I was a healthy baby born to ordinary parents. By “ordinary,” I mean to say that my parents were fucked up in fairly pedestrian ways. Mom sometimes got depressed; Dad occasionally drank too much. Nothing all that unusual. Tap dancing in the garage with my sister Erin. I was . . . → Read More: Suicide’s Shadow Is Long On Saturday, October 27, 1979, I knew a few things: my little sister’s blonde pony tails were prettier than my brown ones; my favorite TV show, Little House on the Prairie, came on every Monday evening at 7:00; my third grade teacher’s breath smelled like tuna fish; and bad things didn’t happen in my . . . → Read More: Dead On Purpose  |
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