All Parents Damage Their Children.

War Could Bond Men Like A Magnet, But Like A Magnet It Could Repel Them, Too. The Things They Saw, The Things They Did. Sometimes They Just Wanted To Forget.

Accept The Past As Past, Without Denying It Or Discarding It.

You'll Come To My Grave? To Tell Me Your Problems?" My Problems? "yes.' And You'll Give Me Answers? "i'll Give You What I Can. Don't I Always?" I Picture His Grave, On The Hill, Overlooking The Pond, Some Little Nine Foot Piece Of Earth Where They Will Place Him, Cover Him With Dirt, Put A Stone On Top. Maybe In A Few Weeks? Maybe In A Few Days? I See Myself Sitting There Alone, Arms Across My Knees, Staring Into Space. It Won't Be The Same, I Say, Not Being Able To Hear You Talk. "ah, Talk . . . " He Closes His Eyes And Smiles. "tell You What. After I'm Dead, You Talk. And I'll Listen.

It's Like Going Back To Being A Child Again. Someone To Bathe You. Someone To Lift You. Someone To Wipe You. We All Know How To Be A Child. It's Inside All Of Us. For Me, It's Just Remembering How To Enjoy It.

There Is A Big Confusion In This Country Over What We Want Verses What We Need...you Need Food. You Want A Chocolate Sundae.