No. They'll absorb enough. Your daughter and my brother will know enough to know that they are -- unusual -- but there's no reason to pound it home. You have to allow them to think that they're just as good and just as normal -- or in our case, better -- than anyone else. You're special. You're chosen. But what you never want to do is use your situation as an excuse to wallow or fail. It just means that you're that much more. It's all an advantage.

Because, do you want to be like everybody else? I think that's the question that you have to ask yourself, ask your daughter. And I think that people who would judge you and your daughter -- and I'm sure that the things that were said to your daughter are similar to the things that were said to Toph, because you're different. Oh, "You're the one with no dad." Or, "You're the one with no parents." Or, "You're the one whose house is filthy." Or, "You live in an apartment."

It's a badge of honor, though. Soon enough, they'll realize that. Kids like to be considered normal so they can go ahead and get on with their lives and not have to worry about that. But soon enough, it turns 180 degrees, and the more normal you are, the more likely you are to be predestined for some boring, predetermined life.

It's just like growing up with a silly name. Like one of my friends was Giacomo Calliendo. And we had another kid in high school named Gonzolo Chocano. And my best friend in the world is named Flagg. And you get all the shit in the world for that. But at this point, who would you rather be: Giacomo, Calliendo or Dave?

It's the same thing with your upbringing. Who wouldn't envy someone who was brought up on ships sailing the Pacific? Or was brought up in Nova Scotia? Normalcy is OK to a point -- but what do you get for it? Nothing. You've lived your life in a normal way. And then, you've got a problem. Because what have we been seeking this whole time? Anonymity and normalcy? I mean, you're dead and you're glad that you were so normal? And you're glad that your familial structure was as normal as possible and your parents were just the right age? Strange thing, you know. Very strange.

And in the end, at least in the existential sense, you only have what you have, you know. Unless you're saving it for some other world, and I don't know anything about that. I don't know if there's some other world. So you try to make it as interesting as possible here.

So if you later decide to have kids at a sensible age, in your late 30s, with a stable income, a good career and a nuclear family, then what do you do?

You have to manufacture chaos.

Exactly.

That's a recurring theme in the book: The manufacture of chaos. Trying to make seemingly safe lives seemingly dangerous to satisfy that primal urge for danger.

And yet, I know many 40-year-old mothers who tell me that they are just as insane, just as unconventional as I am. Is there really a divide between young parents and 40-year-old mothers? Or are we 40-year-old mothers?

We can't possibly be. I think kids feel the difference. And they see the difference, when we show up at parent-teacher conferences.

I love the parent-teacher conferences in your book.

I didn't even go into them all the way in the book. At times, there would be three of us: me, my older brother Bill, who is an arch conservative, and then my sister, Beth, who is way left. And we would be barraging them with questions about their curriculum. We all thought we were so smart. And we were the same age as most of these teachers, so we felt like we knew the game, we knew what was up with them. But we also had the moral authority to question them on the very foundation. So it was fun.

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