...His father was a publicity agent, theater manager, and a Jew. He had an older sister, Evelyn. Home life in the Orowitz family was not normal. There was high tension between his parents and he found them difficult to cope with. Landon suffered much heartache and trauma at the hands of his mother. She was depressed, suicidal, volatile, and abusive. As an adult, Landon was interviewed many times and quoted as saying this of his mother, “She was a stabber, a kicker, and a wacko” (landonland.com), and that she was “…off her rocker” (bonanzaworld.net). Looking back at his childhood, his memories of her were not fond. Here is some of what he shared. “I was ten before I knew you put anything but a head in a gas oven” and on his sixth birthday she said to him, “Well, now you’re six and I don’t like you anymore because I don’t like little boys.” (bonanzaworld.net) In another interview he remembered this, “My mother would sit on the sofa in her nightgown – she always wore her nightgown when she was upset –...
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...A Walk to Remember NICHOLAS SPARKS Prologue When I was seventeen, my life changed forever. I know that there are people who wonder about me when I say this. They look at me strangely as if trying to fathom what could have happened back then, though I seldom bother to explain. Because I've lived here for most of my life, I don't feel that I have to unless it's on my terms, and that would take more time than most people are willing to give me. My story can't be summed up in two or three sentences; it can't be packaged into something neat and simple that people would immediately understand. Despite the passage of forty years, the people still living here who knew me that year accept my lack of explanation without question. My story in some ways is their story because it was something that all of us lived through. It was I, however, who was closest to it. I'm fifty-seven years old, but even now I can remember everything from that year, down to the smallest details. I relive that year often in my mind, bringing it back to life, and I realize that when I do, I always feel a strange combination of sadness and joy. There are moments when I wish I could roll back the clock and take all the sadness away, but I have the feeling that if I did, the joy would be gone as well. So I take the memories as they come, accepting them all, letting them guide me whenever I can. This happens more often than I let on. It is April 12, in the last year before the millennium, and as I leave my house, I glance...
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