Can’t Hurt Me_ Master Your Mind and Defy the Odds

Skateland, age six
At around 6 p.m., my mother called us to dinner in the back office. That woman
lived in a permanent state of denial, but her maternal instinct was real, and it
made a big fucking show of itself, grasping for any shred of normalcy. Every
night in that office, she’d set out two electric burners on the floor, sit with her
legs curled behind her, and prepare a full dinner—roast meat, potatoes, green
beans, and dinner rolls, while my dad did the books and made calls.
The food was good, but even at six and seven years old I knew our “family