Little BoxJam: ...*

BoxJam: My mother made chili. She served it in black-speckled green bowls that all bowled foods got served in. She served it with saltines.

BoxJam: Well, we're all eating - nobody said, "Hey, your chili bites!" or "Saltines?! Who let it slip that my favorite accompaniment to chili was dry crackers like hospital patients eat?" nor even, "Milk with chili - what won't Woman's Day think of next!?" You know what someone said? "Stop making noise eating the chili!"

BoxJam: So I tried. I tried to eat this undrained ground beef - I mean CHILI - as quietly as I could, while the gallery watched. Quickly it was decided that I wasn't really trying to eat this silence-commanding repast - quietly, and clearly - was doing so to - annoy, so I had - no, I was PLACED - in the kitchen - better-than-I-deserved chili - beautiful green bowl.

BoxJam: I felt like an ANIMAL. Couldn't eat with the rest of the family because I chewed or slurped failed spaghetti sauce and crackers too loudly. Here's the funny part:

BoxJam: I saw my parents as unquestionable. It took me almost 30 years to recognize that, in that episode, my mother wasn't omniscient, or even any wiser than any person would be... she was simply a woman...

Little BoxJam: Imperfect, like any of us...

BoxJam: ...a psychotic hell-houndress.