And Nedley Started Saying,'shut Up!quit That! And

A Thousand Times Today I've Started To Open My Mouth, Started To Squeak Out, "can You Tell Me...? But Then I'd Look Into The Front Seat, At My Mother's Silent Shaking, My Father's Grim Profile, The Mournful Bags Under His Eyes, And All The Questions I Might Ask Seemed Abusive. Assault And Battery, A Question Mark Used Like A Club. My Parents Are Old And Fragile. I'd Have To Heartless To Want To Hurt Them.

Nothing Was More Valuable Than The Printed Word.

A Ssure You, The More I Travel Through Time, The More I Witness, The More I Realize That There Are Things That Are Both Strange And Wonderful, Far Beyond Human Comprehension.

Unlike My Mother, My Father Does Not Cry Quietly. His Wails Roll Out Like A Wave Of Pain, And I Scramble To Roll Up My Window. My Mother Cannot Hear That. I Cannot Bear To Hear It Myself. I Am Not Used To My Father's Crying. I've Had No Time To Harden My Heart Against Him.

Maybe Everyone Is Just Waiting For Someone Else To Save Them.