Hey Kiddo Quotes

Stories keep memories alive and people real to us.

It is said that books save lives, but I also say that empty sketchbooks save lives too. I filled up many, and there is no doubt they saved mine.

I AM WHO I AM IN SPITE OF MY MOTHER, BUT I ALSO AM WHO I AM BECAUSE OF HER.

Hey, kiddo,” Dex whispered. “It’s just me.

Hey, kiddo.” Helena looked over at me from the doorway that led to the kitchen as I practiced piano in the living room. I liked playing in the morning, and I liked playing in my fancy flowered pajamas with the matching silk slippers. It made practicing feel like an elegant pastime, like I was an erstwhile Austen character honing one of the skills that would make me a fearsome thing to behold.

When you're a kid and a teen, you're not in control of your circumstances. But the beautiful thing about growing up is that you get to create your own reality and your own family. That family might be a group of tight-knit friends, that family might be a spouse and children of your own. But ultimately, your childhood realities do not have to perpetuate themselves into adulthood, not if you don't let them. It for sure takes work.

I NOW KNOW WHAT JOE MEANT WHEN HE ALWAYS SAID THAT HIS PARENTS WOULD'VE LOVED ME.

Seriously. Books like these, they want you to conform to their style. You don’t want to have to go make comics for a company that will control your work.

It wasn't until after we were pulling into the back lot of Station One that I remembered asking Hank if he wanted to have coffee and talk. Crap. I slid a quick glance his way to find him staring out the window. His expression reminded me of a conversation I had with Emma when she was six years old and I found her sitting with her knees drawn up on the back of the couch, staring out the window. "Hey, kiddo, what's wrong?" "I'm looking out the window." "Why?" "Because that's what people do when they're sad. They stare out the window.

Hey, Rhubarb, we may need to rethink our approach.” “No, we don’t.” “I’ve only got one hand here, kiddo. Maybe if I grab the middle-” “If you grab the middle, it’ll be the last thing that hand ever does!” He pondered that as if it explained something. “So I’m guessing then you don’t get a lot of company down here.” “Bobby, so help me, I will rip your arm off and beat you with it, do you hear me?” “Okay, geez. Let me just get a look—” He picked her skirt up and pulled it over his head. “Bobby!” She was actually too mortified to even scream so it came out like a squeak from a dying rat. “Dammit, there’s no light under here, can’t see a thing.” Thank God for small blessings. “Get out of there!” “Tell you what, how about you use your spare hand and I use mine on either side of your hips and we yank together.

Guess what, Grandpa!” she says, not giving him time to guess before she continues. “I seen that Breezeo got sick in an accident, so Mommy told me I could draw him a picture!” My father’s eyes go wide as he shoots me a look. “I told her we’d find an address and mail it to him,” I explain. “You know, like fan mail.” “Makes sense.” “You wanna draw one, Grandpa?” Maddie asks. “I bet mine would be better, but you can try, too.” He scowls at her. “What makes you think yours would be better?” “ ‘Cuz I’m best at drawing,” she says. “You’re good, too, but Mommy can’t draw.” “Hey,” I say defensively. “I can draw some seriously cool stars.” Maddie dramatically rolls her eyes, making sure I see it, announcing, “That don’t count!” before making her way inside. “You heard the girl,” my father says, grinning and nudging me when I join him on the porch. “Your stars don’t count, kiddo.

Well, I hate to tell ya, kid. The world is full of assholes. And you know what? Sometimes, when you talk to assholes, you get shit on. Just try to focus on the good aspects.

I am about two seconds away from vomiting all over every inch of you,” she told her uncle in a slurred voice as he hung up. “And me without a poncho. Pity.” She riskily let out a small burp. “Oh God. Put me down. Please?” “Was that a magic word I just heard? Did an ounce of politeness just escape the mouth of Lexington Bartleby? I think it did!” And with a surprising gentleness, he lowered his queasy passenger to her feet. “Good?” he asked, giving her a hard pat on the shoulder. “Yep.” Lex’s eyes focused, then unfocused. “Nope. Head rush,” she said on her way to the ground. Five minutes later she woke up and squinted at her uncle’s hovering head. “Hey, kiddo. What’s your name?” he asked. “Lex.” “What month are we in?” “July.” “Yankees or Mets?” “Mets.” “Good girl.” He yanked her up from the ground and pointed at a nearby hill. “This way.

Such a shame that I didn’t get to say good-bye to my fellow inmates,” he said sarcastically. “Actually, Puchalski was the only guy I liked. I still can’t figure out what got into him.” As Jordan used her chopsticks to pick up a piece of hamachi, she decided it was best to get her brother off that topic as fast as possible. “Sounds like he just snapped.” “But why would he have a fork in his shoe?” Kyle mused. “That makes me think he was planning the attack, which doesn’t make sense.” Let it go, Kyle. She shrugged. “Maybe he always keeps a fork in his shoe. Who understands why any of these felon types do what they do?” “Hey. I am one of those felon types.” Grey tipped his glass of wine. “And who would’ve thought you would do what you did?” “It was Twitter,” Kyle mumbled under his breath. Maybe we should change the subject,” Jordan suggested, sensing the conversation could only spiral downward from there. “Okay. Let’s talk about you instead,” Grey said. “I never asked—how did Xander’s party go?” Now there was a potential land mine of a topic. “It went fine. Pretty much the same party as usual.” Except for a little domestic espionage. She threw Kyle a look, needing help. Change the subject. Fast. He stared back cluelessly. Why? She glared. Just do it. He made a face. All right, all right. “Speaking of wine, Jordo, how was your trip to Napa?” Great. Leave it to her genius of a brother to pick the other topic she wanted to avoid. “I visited that new winery I told you about. We should have a deal this week so that my store will be the first to carry their wine in the Chicago area.” Grey’s tone was casual. “Did you bring Tall, Dark, and Smoldering with you on the trip?” Jordan set down her chopsticks and looked over at her father. He smiled cheekily as he took a sip of his wine. “You read Scene and Heard, too?” she asked. Grey scoffed at that. “Of course not. I have people read it for me. Half the time, it’s the only way I know what’s going on with you two. And don’t avoid the question. Tell us about this new guy you’re seeing. I find it very odd that you’ve never mentioned him.” He fixed his gaze on her like the Eye of Sauron. Jordan took a deep breath, suddenly very tired of the lies and the secret-agent games. Besides, she had to face the truth at some point. “Well, Dad, I don’t know if you have to worry about Tall, Dark, and Smoldering anymore. He’s not talking to me right now.” Kyle’s face darkened. “Tall, Dark, and Smoldering sounds like a moron to me.” Grey nodded, his expression disapproving. “I agree. You can do a lot better than a moron, kiddo.” “Thanks. But it’s not that simple. His job presents some . . . challenges.” That was definitely the wrong thing to say. “Why? What kind of work does he do?” her father asked immediately. Jordan stalled. Maybe she’d overshot a little with the no more lies promise. She threw Kyle another desperate look. Do something. Again. Kyle nodded. I’m on it. He eased back in his chair and stretched out his intertwined hands, limbering up his fingers. “Who cares what this jerk does? Send me his e-mail address, Jordo—I’ll take care of it. I can wreak all sorts of havoc on Tall, Dark, and Smoldering’s life in less than two minutes.” With an evil grin, he mimed typing at a keyboard. Their father looked ready to blow a gasket. “Oh no—you do not get to make the jokes,” he told Kyle. “Jordan and I make the jokes. You’ve been out of prison for four days and I seriously hope you learned your lesson, young man . . .

It was quiet. Then he asked, “What do you have to do?” I pointed at his stress grip. “Things like that. I mean there’s more, but that’s a great place to start. But hey, I’m pretty similar to you in all this. I’ll show you a few things. You know, different ways to breathe, for example. How to talk to yourself in a positive way. How to realize that it’s the anxiety and not the situation. But on the positive side, do you know what happened when I learned to live with my anxiety instead of trying to find a way to get rid of it?” “What?” he asked. “Well, my life got better. I got happier. I started smiling more, and I stopped being so afraid all the time. And when I look back at my life thus far, I’ve gone to college. I’ve gotten married, gotten a good job, and had three amazing kids. All of it with my anxiety in the back seat. Life’s been pretty good despite my anxiety. Pretty sure it’s going to be the same for you.” I gave him one of those soft, fatherly punches to the arm. He let out this long breath, and I could almost see the steam of feeling odd or like he was holding on to some great burden alone come pouring out of him. Then he said something I think all dads never, ever, get tired of hearing. “Thanks, Dad.” “Anytime, kiddo. Anytime.

I AM NOW LIVING OUT MY CHILDHOOD DREAMS OF MAKING A LIVING AS AN AUTHOR AND AN ARTIST, BUT IT IS A GREATER TRIUMPH FOR ME TO HAVE CREATED A STABLE, LOVING HOME WITH MY WIFE.

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