My mother, Dorothy Watson, had met my father in a Greek class at Northwestern University.
My mother protected me from the world and my father threatened me with it.
You fall out of your mother's womb, you crawl across open country under fire, and drop into your grave.
My father was always telling himself no one was perfect, not even my mother.
Always a godmother, never a mother. That sucks. I've got to get me one of those little accessories.
The real cure for our environmental problems is to understand that our job is to salvage Mother Nature. We are facing a formidable enemy in this field. It is the hunters... and to convince them to leave their guns on the wall is going to be very difficult.
As I have discovered by examining my past, I started out as a child. Coincidentally, so did my brother. My mother did not put all her eggs in one basket, so to speak: she gave me a younger brother named Russell, who taught me what was meant by "survival of the fittest."
My father went into the armed service and I never saw my mother - I don't know what happened to her.
Yes, my mother was a singer, and my father played piano and keyboards. They were in a band together, though they also had regular jobs because they had kids and stuff like that.
Just before my final year of high school, my brother, sister and I moved with my mother to San Francisco.
My father was a professor of civil engineering at MIT, and my mother taught high school English.
Family life was wonderful. The streets were bleak. The playgrounds were bleak. But home was always warm. My mother and father had a great relationship. I always felt 'safe' there.
I didn't grow up with my mother, and so losing her for real was like, some sort of latent childhood, some sort of unresolved issue. When she left for real, it was sort of like, I was done.
I imagine a lot of people tune in simply to watch reporters get bitch-slapped by Mother Nature, and frankly, who can blame them?
But my mother and father were married when my mom was 20 and my dad was 24.