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Richard
from
Texas
laughs
so
hard
he
almost
loses
his
toothpick
.
"
They
can
’
t
?
Honey
-
Ray
Charles
could
see
your
control
issues
!
"
"
OK
,
I
think
I
’
m
done
with
this
conversation
now
,
thank
you
.
"
"
You
gotta
learn
how
to
let
go
,
Groceries
.
Otherwise
you
’
re
gonna
make
yourself
sick
.
Never
gonna
have
a
good
night
’
s
sleep
again
.
You
’
ll
just
toss
and
turn
forever
,
beatin
’
on
yourself
for
being
such
a
fiasco
in
life
.
What
’
s
wrong
with
me
?
How
come
I
screw
up
all
my
relationships
?
Why
am
I
such
a
failure
?
Lemme
guess
-
that
’
s
probably
what
you
were
up
at
all
hours
doin
’
to
yourself
again
last
night
.
"
"
All
right
,
Richard
,
that
’
s
enough
,
"
I
say
.
"
I
don
’
t
want
you
walking
around
inside
my
head
anymore
.
"
"
Shut
the
door
,
then
,
"
says
my
big
Texas
Yogi
.
When
I
was
nine
years
old
,
going
on
ten
,
I
experienced
a
true
metaphysical
crisis
.
Maybe
this
seems
young
for
such
a
thing
,
but
I
was
always
a
precocious
child
.
It
all
happened
over
the
summer
between
fourth
and
fifth
grade
.
I
was
going
to
be
turning
ten
years
old
in
July
,
and
there
was
something
about
the
transition
from
nine
to
ten
-
from
single
digit
to
double
digits
-
that
shocked
me
into
a
genuine
existential
panic
,
usually
reserved
for
people
turning
fifty
.
I
remember
thinking
that
life
was
passing
me
by
so
fast
.
It
seemed
like
only
yesterday
I
was
in
kindergarten
,
and
here
I
was
,
about
to
turn
ten
.
Soon
I
would
be
a
teenager
,
then
middle
-
aged
,
then
elderly
,
then
dead
.
And
everyone
else
was
aging
in
hyperspeed
,
too
.
Everybody
was
going
to
be
dead
soon
.
My
parents
would
die
.
My
friends
would
die
.
My
cat
would
die
.
My
older
sister
was
almost
in
high
school
already
;
I
could
remember
her
going
off
to
first
grade
only
moments
ago
,
it
seemed
,
in
her
little
knee
socks
,
and
now
she
was
in
high
school
?
Obviously
it
wouldn
’
t
be
long
before
she
was
dead
.
What
was
the
point
of
all
this
?
The
strangest
thing
about
this
crisis
was
that
nothing
in
particular
had
spurred
it
.
No
friend
or
relative
had
died
,
giving
me
my
first
taste
of
mortality
,
nor
had
I
read
or
seen
anything
particular
about
death
;
I
hadn
’
t
even
read
Charlotte
’
s
Web
yet
.
This
panic
I
was
feeling
at
age
ten
was
nothing
less
than
a
spontaneous
and
full
-
out
realization
of
mortality
’
s
inevitable
march
,
and
I
had
no
spiritual
vocabulary
with
which
to
help
myself
manage
it
.
We
were
Protestants
,
and
not
even
devout
ones
,
at
that
.
We
said
grace
only
before
Christmas
and
Thanksgiving
dinner
and
went
to
church
sporadically
.
My
dad
chose
to
stay
home
on
Sunday
mornings
,
finding
his
devotional
practice
in
farming
.
I
sang
in
the
choir
because
I
liked
singing
;
my
pretty
sister
was
the
angel
in
the
Christmas
pageant
.
My
mother
used
the
church
as
a
headquarters
from
which
to
organize
good
works
of
volunteer
service
for
the
community
.
But
even
in
that
church
,
I
don
’
t
remember
there
being
a
lot
of
talking
about
God
.
This
was
New
England
,
after
all
,
and
the
word
God
tends
to
make
Yankees
nervous
.
My
sense
of
helplessness
was
overwhelming
.
What
I
wanted
to
do
was
pull
some
massive
emergency
brake
on
the
universe
,
like
the
brakes
I
’
d
seen
on
the
subways
during
our
school
trip
to
New
York
City
.
I
wanted
to
call
a
time
out
,
to
demand
that
everybody
just
STOP
until
I
could
understand
everything
.
I
suppose
this
urge
to
force
the
entire
universe
to
stop
in
its
tracks
until
I
could
get
a
grip
on
myself
might
have
been
the
beginning
of
what
my
dear
friend
Richard
from
Texas
calls
my
"
control
issues
.
"
Of
course
,
my
efforts
and
worry
were
futile
.
The
closer
I
watched
time
,
the
faster
it
spun
,
and
that
summer
went
by
so
quickly
that
it
made
my
head
hurt
,
and
at
the
end
of
every
day
I
remember
thinking
,
"
Another
one
gone
,
"
and
bursting
into
tears
.
