"You kids think you invented sex," my mother was fond of saying. But hadn't we? With no instruction manual or federally enforced training period, did… - David Sedaris

I spent months searching for some secret code before I realized that common sense has nothing to do with it. Hysteria, psychosis, torture, depression: I was told that if something is unpleasant it's probably feminine. This encouraged me, but the theory was blown by such masculine nouns as murder, toothache, and rollerblade. I have no problem learning the words themselves, it's the sexes that trip me up and refuse to stick.

Dad wants to talk about her death — he needs to — but unlike the rest of us, who yak incessantly about our feelings, he has no vocabulary for it and is reduced to the clichés you’d find on a sympathy card. It’s like not knowing a language.

"I don't know how these couples do it, spend hours each night tucking their kids in, reading them books about misguided kittens or seals who wear uniforms, and then reread them if the child so orders. In my house, our parents put us to bed with two simple words: "Shut up." That was always the last thing we heard before our lights were turned off. Our artwork did not hang on the refrigerator or anywhere near it, because our parents recognized it for what it was: crap. They did not live in a child's house, we lived in theirs."