I have been toying around with the idea of writing my memoir. Yes, it is pretty early on in my life to consider such a venture but I have decided to go through with it or at the very least try and see what develops.

This is my part of my story.

When I meet someone new I know inevitably the conversation is going to happen. We laugh, we hang out, we share a few stories maybe we even a few secrets. It is then when people work up the courage to ask me what I rarely volunteer.

“So do you have a father?” I love this question because it seems so absurd, of course I have a father I wouldn’t be here without one. That of course is my sarcastic nature. Often I look at them contemplatively before I respond. If they ask a silly question the very least I can do is answer it that way. “Yes I do but he’s crazy”

Whomever I am talking to will laugh and then make eye contact with me, letting me know with their visual cue that it is time to elaborate. I never know what they are expecting me to say but I do know it is not what they get.

“No, really, he is legitimately crazy. He is a paranoid schizophrenic.”