06-21-07| 12:50 pm

It's funny, right; the things you think, say, sing. My mother made up songs that still resound in my brain. Nonsensical, unwanted. Still there.

One line from a Shel Silverstein poem I read when I was eight years old comes back to me all the time. "It's all the same to the clam."

I ask him how old he was when his parents divorced. If it came as a surprise. The point, I told him, is that everything affects you somehow. These idiosyncrasies.