When I was a little boy, before I had siblings, before I was two, I had no one to play with except my mother. Often, she wanted to do other things, such as read the newspaper. I knew stories were in the words, so I wanted to make stories and be important too. With my mental disabilities, and her demands that I do her work, I was not able to write. When I finally overcame all that, she wasn’t interested in most of what I wrote, but other people around the world have been, so I have to be satisfied.
