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'I loved my Mom. She was the smartest and funniest and most interesting people I'd ever known. But growing up with her had never been normal. My first memory in life was flying with her to San Francisco in 1968. My father was dead, I was almost three years old and my mom had just become a hippie [...] I discovered that I had another mom: absent mom, a twenty-four-year-old aspiring hippie. It was the Summer of Love and she had let her blonde, preppy shoulder-length hair grow long and wild' (p.367).
'Growing up I never knew what I would get, my smart-and-funny-mom or my sullen-and-vitriolic mom' (p.369).
Moby: Porcelain
