Dust, Drugs and the Depression

A potpourri of religious fanaticism, sun blotting dust clouds and a
crippling depression served to make me investigate the question: How
did I make my way through this without jail, violence or a mental
hospital? Because of the brutality, I had to learn the meaning of
forgiveness. Because of the dust, I learned to enjoy nature and its
beauty. I learned to appreciate the toughness of those surviving the
rigors of the Big Depression.

Living with a very taciturn father and mother left me with many
questions. The rewards coming from my tears, the love and caring of
friends, both lay and professional, brought me to a point of
reconciliation with myself, despite a family that was torn asunder. Other
rewards included the many stories that came from those zany dust
years, writing passionate essays about the penchant for wars and
finally, the development of a feeling of compassion for those who suffer.

The words: All happy families are the same. Unhappy ones differ in
their own way. However, no one needs to live in thrall to an unhappy
childhood.