When I was a kid, my father didn't really have much hope for me. He thought I was a dreamer; he didn't think I would amount to anything. My mother also.
My father probably - he had flashes of creativity - he used to do store windows for fruit stores that he worked in and stuff.
My father was an urchin that lived in Hell's Kitchen. He was part of a family of nine. I mean, there were times that were better and worse, but mostly, by the time we got to L.A., they'd lost whatever they had. And it was a sad time. And both he and I became truck drivers for different companies.
My father always told me that I was going to be a failure - I think he was more talking about himself, but I didn't know it at the time.
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