Love made us partners in narcissism, and we talked ceaselessly about how close we were, how perfect our connection was, like we were the first people in history to ever get it exactly right.

I whispered to Dad during Rosh Hashanah services, "Do you believe in God?" "Not really," he said. "No." "Then why do we come here?" He sucked thoughfully on his Tums tablet and put his arm around me, draping me under his musty woolen prayer shawl, and then shrugged. "I've been wrong before," he said. And that pretty much summed up what theology there was to find in the Foxman home.

As far as rapprochements go, it's awkward and vague, but the advantage of being as emotionally inarticulate as we are is that it will do the trick.

I'm really not a fan of voiceovers; I think they become a crutch.

Even under the best of circumstances, there's just something so damn tragic about growing up.

We're all clichés, all following scripts that have been written and played out long before we landed the role.

We are injured and angry, scared and sad. Some families, like some couples, become toxic to each other after prolonged exposure.