My friend asked the question out of the blue. I was spending the night with my friend, Larry, and I was lying on a twin bed in the corner of his room.
“What do you think about your mom being gone?” he asked.
It didn’t strike me as a difficult or important question, but something about the experience has burned everything about it into my memory. I was about 10 or 11 years old. Although my mother had been away from us off and on for years, the divorce had been final only for a year or two. She had no custody or official visitation.
I considered Larry’s question for a long moment. I felt very cold. Very hard. There was no emotion in my voice.
“I couldn’t care less if she moved to the Sahara Desert,” I said.
That’s all I said and Larry didn’t ask any more. It’s a good thing, because I might have cried if he had pushed to know what I meant. I was confused. I couldn’t tell if I felt nothing or if I felt more than I could handle. I swept the feelings under a rug in my heart — and I left them there.

Tuesday’s Senate vote reminds me of German ‘Enabling Act’ of 1933
Until you ask the right questions, you’ll never find missing answers
Hiding anger was a survival skill, so you might not know I’m angry
Is AI software a useful tool or does it dictate how I see myself?
Love is best thing to happen to us
What if ‘the Good Old Days’ were never as good as you remember?
How does modern culture escape ‘little boxes made of ticky tacky’?
We all know fairy tales aren’t true, but maybe we need such illusions