Finally the kitchen clock said 5:17. It was time to roll out. I shouted for my mom, woke Jeffrey up, ran upstairs, changed into my concert clothes, put on my shoes, and was standing by the door to the garage by 5:19—chanting “Let’s go! Come on!” (Feel free to try that at home, by the way; moms love it!)

If you promise you will get better instead of dying, I promise I will, too.

You look like a handsome young man…although you might want to zip your fly. Mom! What? Should I have not told you and left it for everyone else to notice at the dance?

Mr. Watras asked me whether I was practicing, and I told him I was practicing my tissue basketball skills.

There are really no guidelines whatsoever, because this is the kind of thing that only happens to ME.

Well your mom was right, in a way. What do you mean? He DID fall, right? So he wasn’t safe on the stool. Thanks, Annette. Thanks a lot. That’s exactly what I needed to hear right now. You’re a very inspiring person, you know that?

Or maybe...their biggest fear is that they will get close to you again, and you'll go and drop dead.