“They would always be in the basement, and I’d think: ‘I’m sure it’s fine, they’re my parents.’ But as I grew older, I noticed that a lot of the time, even when we were together, they weren’t ‘quite there.’ And sometimes when I knocked on the bathroom door, I’d hear my mom hurriedly cleaning something up. Then one day I found a crack pipe. I’d say we’ve probably lived in 20 or 25 states because my dad can’t keep a job. We went from houses, to small suburban apartments, to small inner city apartments. They make up for it with how much they care about me, I suppose. They always cook me dinner. They accept who I am. They always tell me they love me. But there’s never any money for art supplies, or gas, or college. And every time they tell me they’re going to do something, they never do it. They’ve told me so many times they were going to visit colleges with me. But it’s never the right time.”