But my mother rejected me! Threw me out of the house and took back what she gave me: the lawn chair, the overalls, the beach ball, both pairs of undies, my navel, forty-seven cents spending money, the keys to the '37 Chevy coupe, the ticket stub to the 1947 World Series, eight popcorn hulls, both my Elvis and my Buddy Holly birthmarks, half my chromosones, toilet training, and my name. I will never forget how, with tears running down her withered and care-worn cheeks, she said "And don't come back!" as she set the dogs on me.