Mom considered these two things the significant as omens or influences in who I was to become:
Mom liked to walk along Waikiki beach with me. Once, a man approached and spontaneously composed a poem in my honor.
I was baptized at St. Augustine’s. (Mom was Catholic. Dad was Baptist. In Texas, they viewed it as a mixed marriage.) As mom put it—he was a writer, you know.
She was disappointed when, in college, I didn’t study physics. She wanted me to be a quantum physicist. But she should have realized, she’d been telling me the wrong story. Ever since I wrote my first poem in 4th grade, she’d been helping me create the mythology of a writer.