I grew up where my parents would literally shove me in the car rather than have to say hello to a neighbor.

When I was 15 my parents left town for a month. They hid the keys to the car but I found them. That month I drove my stepdad's Thunderbird Super Coupe into Manhattan every day and I would crank Cypress Hill as I flew around the city racing the taxis.

It wasn't a secret that I was gay. I'd come out to my parents during my junior year of high school on the day that I also wrecked the family car.

Acting advice is a bit like your parents teaching you how to drive a car. You know they're right but you still kind of want them to shut up a bit.

It was all that stuff about taking your parents' car when you're 13 sneaking booze into rock shows and ditching school with your friends. I could relate to that as a former teenager rather than as a present parent.

The courts cannot garnish a father's salary nor freeze his account nor seize his property on behalf of his children in our society. Apparently this is because a kid is not a car or a couch or a boat.

But I also like to shower my parents with presents. I bought them a beautiful car and a house.

I always loved music. You know my parents said I started singing when I was 4 in the car.

The biggest thrill a ballplayer can have is when your son takes after you. That happened when my Bobby was in his championship Little League game. He really showed me something. Struck out three times. Made an error that lost the game. Parents were throwing things at our car and swearing at us as we drove off. Gosh I was proud.

When you read about a car crash in which two or three youngsters are killed do you pause to dwell on the amount of love and treasure and patience parents poured into bodies no longer suitable for open caskets?