Thank you for making me know what it's like:

To have to say goodbye to your grandparents' home,

          all the while savoring the smell of oranges,

To be sexually harassed at age seven by a second grade pervert,

To suffer thinking that your brother has drowned in the ocean as you are saved,

To notice a grey hair and worry about all you haven't done,

To lust after the sweet taste of a Kellogg's Pop Tarts and watch as that lust ignites your
          mother's tidy kitchen,

To feel regret just as you tackle the bratty girl on the playground,

To hear your Pilipino mother read aloud the dirty words of a

          gangster rap song as you die of shame,

To listen to your baby daughter speak to a dead great-grandmother

          she had never met (well, not in this world),

To stroke your beloved dog's head as he takes his last breath,

To run on a cross country team,

To cry watching a little girl being yanked out of Baskin Robbins,

To open a hotel room door and see red roses trailing to the bed,

To be fourteen, and so want to impress girls that you decide while on your

          BMX bike and mid-air in a jump to try a new

          super-duper maneuver (notice "man" in maneuver),

To stand vigil at your sick child's bedside day and night,

To wonder why Jackie climbed in the backseat of the car, in Dallas, after her husband,
          President Kennedy, was shot,

To surf Australia,

To spontaneously decide to have your nipples pierced,

To know that you are being watched and analyzed by an important looking man in a suit,

To be told your father is dead,

To steal beer from the old man behind the counter,

To dance your little heart out,

To dive off a cliff, to slice the water with your body, and to break your neck,

To leave your son, Superman, outside of school in his underoos, and drive away,

          cigarette in hand, hair whipping in the wind and sing Here Comes the Sun,

To be with your brother, both of you leaning your elbows on a window sill and watching
          the rain fall down,

To stand by the side of the road, leave your bra behind, and say goodbye to a dead friend,

To remember every detail—the sight, smell, feel, sound, and taste—you associate with
          your grandma's house,

To hear your life in music,

To find detailed memory in every key on your ring,

To choose a coffin for a father you can't bear to bury,

To sit in a comedy club and chat with a porn star (and think this is normal),

To realize you want to order the same less-than-happy meal as the criminal,

To say fuck you in toddler talk.