I seriously think I could have sat in the middle of the kitchen floor rubbing two sticks together over a pile of dynamite blocks and gasoline cans, and my parents would be oblivious, as long as I was keeping myself occupied.

(Yes teenage boys who are fine always cry on their mothers’ shoulders until they leave a snot trail.)

...my little blurb wasn't going to win me any speaker-of-the-year awards, but at least I hadn't tripped and fallen off the stage, crushing and killing three elderly jazz fans.

You are a wonderful son, and a wonderful man. Yet another parent busting forth with the “man” thing! I’d have to check my chest for signs of hair when I got home.

Take care, Jeffy. I’ll see you soon, right? Just remember not to throw food at the nurses. I don’t want to get any complaint calls, OK? Steven, I don’t throw food at…oh, that was a joke, right? Yup, buddy boy. It was a joke. But seriously, no kissing the nurses on the lips, either. It messes up their makeup. Eeeeeeewwwww!

And if there was one thing I'd finally figured out, it was that your mind is something you always CAN change.

Steven, I know I phrased that as a question, but it was really a command. Yes, but mine is…ummm…private. Private, Steven? Yes, Miss Palma. PRIVATE Steven? Again with the capital letters?