I have a lot of favorite films. I tend to love the silliness of 'Bringing Up Baby.' 'Charade' is fantastic. 'His Girl Friday,' the banter in that, that alone made me want to be a writer.

Cary Benjamin sleeps dreamily on my stomach as we're both bonding and recuperating. He's phenomenal.

When it comes to Father's Day, I will remember my dad for both being there to nurture me and also for the times he gave me on my own to cultivate my own interests and to nurture my own spirit.

It's not what your parents give you. It's what you do with your own stuff.

Dad has, and had, a deservedly glowing reputation. However, this belief in 'reputation first' seems to have given rise to his fears of what might be rumored after his death.

At some level it's still hard for me to admit that my father died. I can talk about it and around it, but those two words. 'He died.' What can that possibly mean? That I won't get to hear his voice again?

One of the myths about Dad was that he was mean. That simply wasn't true. I always found him generous to a fault but he wasn't reckless with his money, which was rather rare in Hollywood. He'd grown up with nothing and he wasn't about to fritter it all away.