When I was a little kid, my parents were great. I say this not to brag, but because I often have to remind myself of it in the wake of the psycho, annoying crap they started to pull when I was about eleven. (As an adult, I can see that that later stuff was all about them being unhappy, fallible human beings with issues. Fair enough. But it sucked
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And, of course, I'm terribly jealous that you got to own books as a kid. Sarah and I have agreed that our terrible addiction to buying books when we already have a dozen unread ones in a pile by the bed is a belated attempt to make up for never having enough books to read when we were younger. I still experience a constant pull between wanting to re-read old favorites and wanting to have so many books that I will never HAVE to re-read one.
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I've heard so much about your parents...it's really nice to hear about their good sides.
Well, it's just so much easier to complain, isn't it? ;) And some of the bad stuff makes for funny stories. (I mean, who doesn't enjoy a good laugh at the expense of the fundamentalist Christians?) But I do have a lot of good stories, too, from the younger years. In a very real sense, during my first 10 or 11 years, my parents equipped me with the tools to survive them for the next 10 or 11. So, that worked out nicely, then.
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