I've always had the sort of parents that have been game for anything. When I showed up with my first tattoo as a 12 year old, they said okay. The first time I was arrested, they said okay (not so much on the subsequent and escalating ones). When I wanted to play baseball for a living, they said okay. When I wanted to move to Hollywood and try to write movies and later books and television shows for a living, they said okay. When I packed my bags and left to blindly tour the world, they said okay. We've always had something of an understanding that life was mine and that I could do with it what I wanted. Amazing concept - I don't think everyone grows up with. Anyway, I talk a lot of shit on here and in life about my personal pursuits and recently, my old man (who is actually closer to 22) asked if I'd send him a copy of the Eastbound and Down I wrote. I sent it about a week ago and knew he printed it up and that it was sitting somewhere in my Lake Forest home when I got this text from my mother today, quoting...
"Only pussies, assholes and/or fags off themselves with pills."
How lucky can one guy be? Honestly.
