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My dad's idea of punishment was to dress me up in all green to disguise me as grass, and then throw me in the pasture. Cows bit me all over.

Ah, my dad's whistle. On holidays when I was a kid, we would all be off in the rock pools along the beach. When it came time to go, we'd hear the whistle and we'd all come running. Like dogs!

Although my mother and father were both completely legit, it was all around me, this crime and licentiousness.

I drank some boiling water because I wanted to whistle.

I was working the Gulf of Mexico on oil rigs, flying helicopters. I'd lost my family to my years of failing as a songwriter. All I had were bills, child support, and grief. And I was about to get fired for not letting 24 hours go between the throttle and the bottle. It looked like I'd trashed my act. But there was something liberating about it.

My mother protected me from the world and my father threatened me with it.

I grew up cursing a lot. It felt natural. My parents told me to stop.

I remember my uncle and my father telling me that my mother didn't want me because I was blind. She thought being blind was a disgrace and a punishment from God.

What kept me out of trouble is going right to the edge and then... thinking that my mother would be embarrassed, and that I didn't want to embarrass her, and that my father would be embarrassed, and I just didn't want to do that to my family.