In the past, my brain would never stop. Now I'm a father; the world no longer revolves around me. When I'm with Bronx, he's got my complete attention. He's the only thing that occupies my thoughts.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
When you're a kid with artistic yearnings brought up in the Bronx, you don't get fed up too easily.
I'd just like to carry on in Dad's footsteps. I think that Dad's spirit and passion lives in every single one of us.
I think about my mother every day. But usually the thoughts are fleeting - she crosses my mind like a spring cardinal that flies past the edge of your eye: startling, luminous, lovely... gone.
I continually acted up to get attention. My father gave me that, and once he left, I felt that I didn't have any.
My happiest moments of growing up in the Bronx were when my mom would bring home a new sports magazine from the candy store. I would jump out of bed and grab it from her. Then I'd rip the front cover right off and tape it to my bedroom wall.
I could share an hour of warm camaraderie with Dad, then once I'd walked out the door, get the uncanny feeling I'd disappeared into the wings of his mind's stage, like a character no longer necessary to the ongoing story line.
My father raised me to think independently and follow my own path in life.
Somewhere, sometime I'd stopped expecting my father to father.
The thing that drives me more than anything else is being a father.
Thinking fascinates me, and I probably spend too much time in my mind. My wife says that my perfect world is to be in the Suburban driving, with her next to me and the boys in the back seat and complete silence for two thousand miles.