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Growing up, I had a very happy childhood, with two parents who are still very much together.

I didn't have time for my children much. I wasn't a very good parent; I had a pretty unhappy home life.

My father showed me so much love. He showed my brother so much love. He just, he had a rough life. You know, he grew up in a boys home in the Bronx. He didn't really know his own family. So I couldn't hold it against him that he didn't know how to parent. He didn't know how to be the perfect husband. But he loved as much as he could.

Everyone loved my father. He was so nice that people took advantage of him. We were lower middle class. I slept in the hallway on a cot that rolled away during the day, and my younger brother and sister slept in my parents' room. My goal as a kid was to someday have my own room and to own a car - and I wanted to be able to take care of my parents.

I was always impressed by how much my dad went out in the yard and played with me and my siblings when we were kids. I'm sure he was tired coming back from work, since he traveled a lot. But he always took time out of his day to go out in the yard.

I missed my dad a lot growing up, even though we were together as a family. My dad was really a workaholic. And he was always working.

It was a fairly happy childhood. My father was working away, and my mum brought up five kids all on her own.

I was loved as a kid; I was raised with more love and emotional support than most folks could wish for... my memories aged nought to ten... are all bound up together in a mesh of innocence and fun.

My childhood was a happy one. I was captain of the school sports team and played cricket after class. I had five younger siblings and a large loving family that lived together. We are still very close.

I had an amazing mother. She raised nine kids, practically as a single parent, which is the hardest thing in the world. Nine of us! Day in and day out. She had to make sure we all had an education and that we all felt loved.