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My dad didn't drive - the only dad I knew who didn't.

Dad worked in a warehouse when I was little and I didn't see him for three years as he was doing all the overtime God gave him to buy me new ballet shoes, or a new tutu.

I've got my mother's acceptance of things and my dad's drive - not such a bad combination.

When I was 15, my parents left town for a month. They hid the keys to the car, but I found them. That month, I drove my stepdad's Thunderbird Super Coupe into Manhattan every day, and I would crank Cypress Hill as I flew around the city, racing the taxis.

I grew up on the back of a motorcycle - my dad didn't have a car until I was a teenager.

My dad was a cross-country truck driver.

I drove my mum and dad mad.

As I've gotten older, I've realized my true models are my parents. My mom is like a sheroe. My dad is so strong.

My dad loved to 'arrange things' to take us kids to that scared the crap out of us on Halloween. He'd take us to the old 'Hermit's House' at the edge of town. He'd park the car 100 yards down the street and say, 'Go back there and get something off the front porch!'

My daddy used to say that I was too big to ride and too little to hitch a wagon - no good for a damn thing.