“My father introduced me. I was in the porch watching T.V. I’m almost certain I was watching “Charlie’s Angels,” and my dad called to me from the living room. He asked me to come (the sort of “asking” dads do when “no” isn’t an option) because he had a book to read to me. My dad didn’t read to me often, so I remember it vividly. I was irritated about having to turn off Farah Fawcett and Jacqueline Smith so my dad could read me some dumb book. I can still see the burnt orange carpet (à la mid-70’s) of our kitchen floor as I sulked through it to the living room where I probably threw myself on the gold-sheen couch with floral patterns. Dad crushed out his cigarette and opened the little paperback he was holding.
And my world changed.”