At the end of high school, I fell in love with a substitute English teacher. It was quite a scandal. Corin didn't start out a bad guy, though. We were together about 10 years and we had two kids. And then he fell in love with someone in a Starbucks, and moved to Palo Alto, California. Kind of severed relations with the three of us. My parents, if I were defending them, which I'm not, had said, back in the day, that he had an "impatient eye."They didn't like him. Week I left, things escalated. My parents cursed at me, which was, like, crazy unusual. And it ended, one afternoon, very badly. I left at 19, haven't spoken to my parents in 15 years. Whatever. That's just the history. Recently, my parents looked me up on the Internet. Asked to meet their grandchildren. Spend a week with them. I looked my parents up, they have a counseling website. People love them. Ironically, they counsel people, which is a hoot. Whatever. I told the kids. They said they wanted to go. I told them I didn't want them to go. They said they were gonna go anyway. They're brats. What can I tell you? And my 15-year-old wants to make a documentary about this.
Wait, wait, wait. Go back. Um, describe the events on the day you left your parents' farm at 19.
I did something I don't choose to tell you. If they choose to tell you, that's their right. Okay? I want to do this for you. Listen, they're good people. Ask them. Can I be done with my part? I still got to get you guys packed.
