My father always had a Cadillac. Not because he was rich, but because "they are good cars," he'd tell me later. I could sense that I was riding in a vehicle which was accelerating forward. There was no light except for the green glow of the radio, and the sounds of Chuck Berry in the background, as I could hear my mother's laughter in the front seat. Where was I? I wasn't in the back seat. No, I was swaddled in the back seat, quite comfortable and looking up through the Eisenglass, at the full moon. That's when I said to myself, literally, "Yes! I've made it!" Made it from where? I had no answer at that time. I was approximately one month old.
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