The spiritual ambiguity growing up made me really latch onto a faith - Protestantism - that was somewhat conventional. Everyone else was rebelling against traditions and institutions, whereas I was rebelling against the upheaval and uncertainty in my family.
I don’t know who my parents were. I know nothing about my inheritance. I could be Jewish; I could be part Negro; I could be Irish; I could be Russian. I am spiritually a mix anyway, but I did have a solid childhood fortunately, because of some wonderful women who brought me up. I never had a father or a man in the house, and that was a loss...
The average American may not know who his grandfather was. But the American was, however, one degree better off than the average Frenchman who, as a rule, was in considerable doubt as to who his father was.
I am still confused because I still don't know who my father is. And so who is my mother? The feeling is still there.
I spent many years not knowing where my dad was... Not knowing if my dad was alive, even. He turned up when I was 16 out of the blue.
Is Joe your father, Zach?' I don't know where the question came from, but it was out, and I couldn't take it back even if I'd wanted to. 'No.' Zach shook his head. 'I never knew my dad. I don't know anything about him.
I'm not exactly sure how many kids I have, but yes, I do miss them officially, for the record. In case any of them are listening, I love you.
You can't predict when a crisis might hit your family, whether it's with an elderly parent or with your children.
I am an immigrant in a sense. What happened was that my father was stationed in New York when my mother became pregnant, and she said, "I've got to go to Sweden so this child can be born there, because you don't have any idea where you're going to be transferred next."
There was a time in my life that my mother told me that they didn't know whether they were going to send me to college or an institution, and it's rough to hear that... Childhood is tough.
I am a divorced child, of divided, uncertain background. Within this division I - supposed fruit of their love - no longer exist. It happened nearly forty years ago, yet to me, nothing is sadder than my parents' divorce.
When your father loses his job you're not sure what the future is going to be. I was conscious that people were interested in what was happening to my father.
My brother arrived some months after my father left. Um, and he ah, was thus eight years younger than me and it was um, you know, it was such a time that my mother probably had people wondering was it his.
As for my brothers, of whom I had three, I know not how they were bred.
I would lay awake nights and cry a lot thinking, is my dad gonna come home? Is he gonna go to jail again? Is he going to get killed?
