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Upon the death of my father, our family and myself were emotionally and financially exhausted.

I love my family, even as I critique their dysfunctionalities.

I grew up in a dysfunctional family.

The remoteness of my parents from the schools, so unfashionable today, was often painful for me, but I learned early to deal with an outside and sometimes hard world.

I had a very difficult childhood. I was surrounded by people who had both parents, which made me feel different. Having a bit of a rougher existence early on, it made me appreciate the work ethic that my grandparents instilled in me.

What I find appalling is the intrusive nature towards my extended family.

In my own upbringing, my family lacked the ability to provide a stable, nurturing environment.

My mother was a woman who was very frustrated. She had a great deal of ability, and all this energy went into me and my brother.

There was mental and physical abuse in my family.

I either had to concentrate on fighting, or I had to help my family. I chose my family. I love my mom; I love my family.